


Yuletide Blessing in Disguise

by Gandalfs_Beard



Series: Yuletide Blessings in Disguise: The Clean and the Steamy Versions [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 116,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13142754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfs_Beard/pseuds/Gandalfs_Beard
Summary: When Harry panics about finding a dance partner for the Yule Ball, McGonagall takes charge...





	1. McGonagall's Edict

Hermione bit her lip and frowned at Ron and Harry when she saw them dueling with a pair of Fred and George’s fake wands after they had finished transforming their guinea fowl into guinea pigs. Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, it seemed doubtful to Hermione that Ron would ever grow up, and though she continued to hold out some hope for Harry, she rather thought he should take his schoolwork more seriously and be more attentive in class. 

But as she put her guinea pig into the cage next to Harry’s after giving her own one last look to make sure everything was all in order, Hermione had to give Harry his due. She was rather impressed; Harry’s guinea pig was perfect, especially compared to Ron’s, which still had a beak, and Neville’s, which still had feathers - and the less was said about Seamus’s which looked as if it had been through a war zone, the better. 

Glancing back at Harry, who appeared to be winning the duel with a fake wand which had turned into a haddock, it occurred to Hermione that Harry was simply happy to have Ron back as his friend after being on the outs with him for a month. Hermione supposed he’d earned a moment to just cut loose, given all the stress he’d been under. 

“Potter! Weasley! _Will you pay attention?”_ McGonagall’s whiplike voice snapped out severely. Gulping, Harry and Ron quickly took their seats. 

“Now that Potter and Weasley have kindly acted their age, I have an announcement to make,” McGonagall began when she was sure the class was listening. “The Yule Ball is approaching - a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament...”

“So that’s why we needed dress robes,” Hermione heard Seamus whisper at Dean as McGonagall continued, explaining that the Ball would only be open to fourth years and above, excepting younger students who were invited by a fourth year. 

Ron looked horrified at the idea, clearly thinking about the frilly vintage dress robes his mother had bought for him. 

Harry shrank back in his seat, his face reddening, when Parvati and Lavender giggled and turned to look at him. Inexplicably, Hermione felt a wave of irritation. Surely they didn’t think Harry was interested in inviting either of them. But then Hermione’s blood ran cold, remembering how Parvati had stuck up for Neville during the Remembrall Incident in first year.

Being who he was, Harry put a lot of stock in things like that. Sure, Parvati may be a bit giggly, but she was brave and kind, and unquestionably pretty. Harry might like her. Then again, Harry had also been stealing a lot of glances at Cho Chang this year. 

Feeling more irritable by the minute, and not entirely certain why, Hermione almost didn’t notice when the bell rang. Uncharacteristically, she began roughly shoving her books in her bag, and stood up quickly. Ron gave her a funny look. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“What?” Hermione was briefly taken aback. “Oh... er, nothing...” she lied, casting around her brain for an excuse. Then Hermione thanked her lucky stars when Ron was distracted by McGonagall calling after Harry.

“Potter - a word, if you please?”

Puzzled, Hermione hovered by the door with Ron as they waited to see what McGonagall wanted with Harry. Obviously worried that he would be called to account for the “sword-fight” he’d had with Ron, Harry meekly and guiltily proceeded to McGonagall’s desk. 

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at Hermione and Ron, apparently expecting them to leave with the rest of the students. Ron gulped; he glanced nervously at Hermione, then quickly shot out the door before McGonagall could give him detention too. Hermione hesitated, staring down McGonagall. When Hermione didn’t budge, McGonagall sighed, apparently deciding to leave well enough alone and get on with things.

“Right then, Potter,” McGonagall began crisply, “the Champions and their partners...”

“Partners? ... What partners?” asked Harry, bewildered. 

McGonagall arched her eyebrows impressively, peering at Harry with great suspicion, as if he was trying to pull one over on her. Hermione suddenly realised that poor Harry had no idea what he was getting into. 

“Your partners for the Yule Ball,” McGonagall said acidly. “Your _dance partners_.”

“Dance partners?” Harry gasped, his face turning scarlet. “You mean like a _date?_ But I don’t dance!”

“You do now!” McGonagall snapped. “Traditionally, the Champions and their dates open the Ball...”

Hermione valiantly stifled an inappropriate giggle when Harry mutinously declared, “I’m not dancing!”

“Oh yes you are Potter!” said McGonagall, in a tone which suggested that Harry was courting danger. “It is tradition! There are certain expectations of the Champions and I will not have you besmirching this school’s reputation. Now get cracking and go find yourself a partner...” 

Harry looked horrified. “But - I don’t...” 

The terror in Harry’s eyes must have made an impression on McGonagall, because a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head. 

“Very well, Potter,” the hard-nosed professor interjected, “you leave me little choice. If you won’t find yourself a partner, I’ll find one for you...” 

“Wait... what?” Harry gasped. “No, I mean...” 

McGonagall suddenly caught the bushy haired girl by the door off-guard with a stern look. 

“Granger, seeing as you’re still here, you’re drafted...” 

_“What?”_ Hermione squeaked, eyes widening with panic, not quite sure she’d heard correctly. 

“Potter needs a dance partner, and quite frankly I can think of none better, considering that you two are practically attached at the hip anyway.” 

“But, I...” Hermione trailed off, speechless as her mind began to race while her stomach started doing little flips... or was that her heart? She wasn’t quite sure. Numerous thoughts came up in her mind, not to mention a surge of annoyance that her freedom of choice was being taken away. 

Taking advantage of Hermione‘s apparent inability to speak, McGonagall pressed on. 

“But what, Granger? Do you already have a date? Weasley perhaps?”

“Well, no, but...” Hermione was at a loss for words. Why was this so confusing all of a sudden? She glanced at Harry for help, but he was frozen, his green eyes as wide as saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Then I don’t see a problem,” McGonagall snapped. “I presumed that your little display of defiance - remaining when I had only invited Potter to stay and sent clear signals that you and Weasley should depart - was an act of loyalty. Not unlike the loyalty you displayed when all others had forsaken Potter after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Or am I mistaken? 

“Well, no, but...” Hermione said again, like a needle stuck on the same groove of a record. For some reason, Hermione couldn’t articulate a thought beyond that point - something was holding her back, preventing her from voicing a thousand rational objections.

“But nothing, Granger! I don’t see Weasley stepping up...” McGonagall briefly hesitated and glanced at Harry, “though if Weasley is your preference for a dance partner, Potter, I can certainly send a House-Elf to call him back...”

Harry shook his head vigorously, still speechless.

“Thought not,” said McGonagall, “There you go then, Granger - Potter clearly still needs you. You aren’t planning on abandoning him now, are you?”

“Of course not!” Hermione asserted without hesitation. Of that, there was no question in her mind, no confusion at all; though her face grew hotter when she added fiercely, “I’d _**never**_ abandon Harry! He’s my _best friend!”_

The hint of a smile hovered at the corner of McGonagall’s thinly pursed lips. Harry’s open mouth suddenly clamped shut as he peered at Hermione, and he had a sort of puzzled look in his eye, as if he’d had a sudden half-formed revelation; he swallowed nervously. 

McGonagall’s eyes crinkled with satisfaction. 

“Then it is decided. Judging by Potter’s silence, I must presume this arrangement is acceptable to him. If there are to be no further objections, Miss Granger...?” 

McGonagall raised her eyebrows again, this time the look was questioning, as if daring Hermione to recant her last statement.

“N...no!” Hermione stammered, shaking her bushy head as she shot Harry a nervous smile, “No objections.” 

“Then I believe we are finished here,” said McGonagall brusquely. “Potter, you are free to go.”

Harry quickly jumped up and made a beeline for the exit, without looking back once at McGonagall. Hermione’s knees were a bit wobbly when Harry reached the doorway, and she thought he seemed a bit shaken as well, but neither could look each other in the eye, and Harry’s cheeks were bright red by the time they both reached the corridor.

In silence, they traipsed side by side through the drafty stone passages of the castle, the echoes of their footsteps the only thing either could hear. Hermione was bursting with anxiety, wondering if Harry had simply complied for the sake of convenience, and not entirely sure what this meant for their relationship.

Yes, she’d been annoyed that Parvati and Lavender were already eyeing Harry hungrily, and that Harry seemed smitten with Cho this year, but that didn’t _really_ mean anything, did it? But that little voice at the back of her mind grew louder, drowning out the sound of their footsteps, asking herself who she was really fooling. 

Hadn’t she been hoping that Harry would eventually see her as a girl, ever since he and Ron had saved her from the troll? She had almost told him then at the end of First Year that she had a crush on him, just before he went through those flames and faced the possibility of death once again to save the Philosopher’s Stone and prevent Voldemort from returning to power. And she had kicked herself for over a year for not telling him, before finally getting on with things and trying to put it behind her.

Hermione could remember the words she had spoken as she had hugged Harry for possibly the last time ever as if it were yesterday. 

“Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and -” 

She had been about to say, “and love,” but then she had hesitated in a decidedly _un_ -brave moment and concluded with, “oh Harry, _be careful!”_ instead. 

Then there had been the terrifying flight on the Hippogriff last year with Harry. Despite herself, knowing that believing in myths was silly, she had secretly hoped that meant something - Hippogriffs were a symbol of romantic love after all. 

But Harry had yet to display any signs of interest in girls last year, and Hermione had hoped that maybe fourth year would be the year. Hermione had had an inkling that Harry and Ron had _finally_ discovered the wonders of puberty when they’d been ogling the Veela at the World Cup. But now that Harry was finally paying attention to girls, it seemed that it was Cho who had caught Harry’s fancy. 

Hermione knew it was very unlikely that Harry would have asked her to the Ball of his own accord, and she hated to admit how much that hurt. Ron probably wouldn’t have asked her either (and she wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted him to - though she had to grudgingly admit that he did make her laugh when he wasn’t belittling her interests and aggravating her to no end). 

It was obvious that Harry and Ron simply didn’t find her attractive in that way. Clearly they preferred pretty girls with straight hair, and Hermione knew she’d never be that. The more she thought about it, the more she reckoned that Harry had simply let McGonagall push him into this because it was easier than trying to pluck up the nerve to ask someone for a date.

But would Harry _really_ do that? Somehow, Hermione couldn’t imagine that the boy who had faced down Voldemort three times, once as a baby, and twice at Hogwarts, and gone up against a basilisk and a dragon, wouldn’t eventually find the courage to ask a girl he was interested in to the Yule Ball. If Harry had proved anything, it was that he was braver than anyone she knew.

Harry had accepted McGonagall’s edict without a word, and Hermione was forced to concede that she really had no idea why. 

As they drew closer to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione couldn’t bear it any longer - she had to know before she showed her face in the common room. She suddenly came to a dead halt, swallowing nervously, heart pounding like a jackhammer, her eyes brimming with tears.

Harry stopped and turned to look at her. He looked about as anxious as she felt.

“Er... Hermione? Are you... erm, okay?”

“H...Harry, you... you are alright with this aren’t you?” Hermione peered into his green orbs, wishing she knew Legilimency. “If... if you’re not, th...that’s okay. Just tell me! If you’re worried about McGonagall, don’t. I’ll even talk to Cho for you, if you’d like - right now even - let her know you’re interested before someone else asks her out - then it’ll be done, and McGonagall won’t have a reason to be cross with you...”

Hermione’s rushing words slowed to a trickle, seeing confusion in Harry’s eyes. 

“You... you are interested in Cho, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Er... I suppose,” said Harry awkwardly. “But what about you?”

“What?”

“What do _you_ want, Hermione?”

Hermione was flummoxed - and annoyed that Harry was answering her question with a question. 

“I... I just want you to be happy, Harry,” she finally responded after a pause.

“So, you’re, erm... _not_ really interested in me then?” he asked, looking extremely perplexed. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” said Harry quickly, looking sadder than she had expected he would. “I’m being an idiot! Of course you just agreed because McGonagall pressured you. You don’t have to go to the Ball with me if you don’t want to...”

“Wait, stop!” said Hermione, finding her voice. “Y...yes, I _**want**_ to go to the Ball with you Harry, but not if you’d rather go with Cho.”

“Oh!” Harry still looked bewildered, but Hermione could almost see the gears working in his cerebral cortex as he tried to make sense of things. 

“Well,” he began again slowly after mulling things over for a moment, “I... er... Cho - yeah, I mean she’s pretty - and yeah, I was sort of thinking about asking her at first, but she’s not you, Hermione. McGonagall - what she said - it made me realise I’ve just been sort of, er... taking you for granted...”

“But you’d rather go with someone prettier,” Hermione mumbled, casting her eyes down. 

“ _No_...” said Harry, a note of frustration creeping into his voice. “That’s not what I mean. ... I’m saying it all wrong. Of course you’re pretty - you’re beautiful! I was just too stupid to notice before because I was used to you always being around... if that makes any sense. ... What I’m saying is that I didn’t even really understand how much I liked you until McGonagall said that stuff about you being loyal. 

“But it was when you said you’d never abandon me - the _way_ you said it - when you said I was your ‘best friend,’ it felt like you were, erm... I dunno... It was like you were saying something more. That’s when it really hit me... how much you really mean to me. 

“I can’t imagine not being around you, and... and I don’t _ever_ want to lose you Hermione! But I have to be sure, are you really saying that you _**like**_ like me?” 

Hermione bit her lip, her heart feeling like it might explode at hearing Harry’s earnest declaration. She nodded vigorously, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“ _Yes,_ Harry!” she squeaked, “I’ve liked you for _ages,_ but I’d more or less given up on the idea of you liking me like that.”

Harry let out a huge sigh of relief and grinned, then he turned a bit pink. 

“Erm... Does... does that mean you’re my girlfriend now, then?”

“It does if you want it to, Harry,” said Hermione hopefully, taking his hands in hers. “I’ve known you long enough to know I’d like to be.”

“Yeah! ... Yeah I’d like that too, Hermione! I’d really like that!” 

Harry’s soppy grin was infectious; a wave of elation crashed over Hermione and before she could stop herself she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t a long kiss, but her lips pressed against his long enough to send tingles shooting through her from head to toe. Harry seemed a bit dazed when it was over. 

Hermione felt more than a bit giddy herself. It was almost surreal; Hermione hadn’t imagined when she’d waited for Harry after Transfiguration that she’d end up as his girlfriend. The pair of them trotted the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower in a fog, and found themselves in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady without quite realising how they’d got there. 

The Fat Lady eyed them cannily when they arrived as they both fumbled for the password. 

“Balderdash,” Hermione finally blurted out when her brain started working again. 

“Finally! Took you two long enough,” said the Fat Lady, giving Hermione and Harry a knowing little smirk as she opened to let them in. “I can’t wait to tell Violet about this!”

Hermione and Harry both blushed furiously when they suddenly realised that the Fat Lady was referring to how long it had taken them to get together, rather than how long it had taken them to remember the password, and their faces were both scarlet when they emerged on the other side of the portrait hole in the Gryffindor Common Room.

“ _There_ you are,” said a familiar grumbling voice. “What took you both so long? ... and what’s wrong with your faces?”

Ron looked up from the couch, gawking at his two best friends. Harry and Hermione shared a brief, awkward look, for a split second thinking that he’d figured them out as well. But the second passed, and it was abundantly obvious from Ron’s befuddled, clueless expression that he wasn’t echoing the Fat Lady’s sentiments.


	2. It Could Have Been You

“Er...” Harry peered at his best mate awkwardly, not sure what to say. 

He glanced at Hermione again, wishing now that they’d talked about how to break the news to their friends without creating a lot of unnecessary excitement. There were loads of people in the common room, and the last thing Harry wanted was to be the centre of attention. Hermione looked as befuddled as he did though; apparently, for once, she didn’t have all the answers.

“What’s with you Harry?” asked Ron, looking extremely puzzled, and slightly scared too. “Did McGonagall give you some sort of horrible detention or something? Did she give me detention too and you just don’t want to tell me?”

Harry’s eyes flickered nervously around the common room again; then he heaved a sigh, knowing he couldn’t really keep it a secret. 

“Well, no actually,” said Harry slowly, “She wanted to tell me something about the Champions. There’s going to be a dance at the Yule Ball...”

“No duh Harry, that’s why it’s called a Ball,” Ron sniggered. “Even I know that. So what?”

Harry flushed, feeling a bit needled. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron, but remained silent.

“Yeah, but apparently the Champions are supposed to lead the dance,” Harry tried to explain. “We’re supposed to bring a date and start dancing in front of everyone...”

“Oh!” Ron looked appalled for Harry, and Harry started to feel a bit better. 

“That’s bollocks mate,” said Ron sympathetically. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. I figured we’d just sit it out when everyone started dancing. And we’ve got plenty of time to find girls to hook up with, right? ... It shouldn’t be too hard for _you_ to find a date - I reckon they’ll be queuing up for you... you’ve just beaten a Hungarian Horntail.”

Harry tried his best to ignore the bitterness in Ron’s tone at that last bit, seeing that Ron was valiantly trying to restrain himself now that they were friends again. Harry swallowed nervously, hoping that Ron wouldn’t get too cross when he found out that he was on his own when it came to finding a date. 

“Er... That’s the other thing, Ron,” said Harry, “I... er... I already have a date...”

“What?” Ron gaped at Harry, flabbergasted. “Already? How? Who?” 

“Er... Well, you see, I sort of panicked when McGonagall sprang it on me,” Harry muttered, his eyes flicking around again to make sure no-one else was listening, reluctant as he was to admit he’d been afraid of trying to ask girls for a date. 

“I tried to tell McGonagall no way,” Harry continued, “but she wouldn’t take no for an answer - said it was tradition and that I had to pick a date or else she’d pick one for me! Anyway, the long and short of it is that... erm... Hermione was there, so she agreed to go with me. Hermione’s going to be my date to the Yule Ball!”

“Oh!” Ron goggled at his friends for a moment, a number of emotions flickering across his features, then he seemed to shrug it off. “Well, that’s not so bad, is it? I mean, you and Hermione are friends at least... It’s not like McGonagall forced you to go with Millicent Bulstrode. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and look for someone on my own.”

Harry grinned, feeling relieved that Ron was actually alright with it. “Yeah, not bad at all really. It’s _brilliant_ in fact! Hermione said she _**wanted**_ to go with me anyway, we’re...”

“Yeah, of course she did,” Ron interrupted, sounding a bit distant as he scoured the common room looking for potential dates. “It’s not like she had anyone else to go with really,” Ron added, peering at Lavender Brown thoughtfully. 

Before Harry had a chance to say anything else, Ron drifted off towards the table where Neville, Seamus, and Dean were all playing a game of Exploding Snap. 

“Well, that went loads better than I thought it would,” said Harry.

“Hmm...”

“What?” Puzzled by Hermione’s noncommittal tone, Harry turned and looked at her, surprised to see her scowling. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure that did go so well, Harry. For one thing, I don’t think Ron registered that we’re going as _more_ than friends. He didn’t really give you a chance to finish...” 

“Oh! Well, that’s alright. I’ll just tell him a bit later - shouldn’t be a problem. But that doesn’t explain why you’re so cross.”

Hermione hesitated, strangely managing to look embarrassed, hurt, and furious all at the same time.

“It’s the way he implied that nobody else would want to go to the Ball with me,” she said, her voice quavering slightly with anger. “And he didn’t even _look_ at me, or say anything to me after you told him we were going to the Ball together! If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he was jealous, but I don’t know why he would be. He’s certainly never treated me like he fancies me.” 

Feeling a bit disconcerted now, Harry glanced back at Ron, who had joined in the game of Exploding Snap. Harry had to admit that Ron looked a bit out of sorts, but the idea that Ron was jealous of him being with Hermione didn’t really make sense to him. 

Hermione was right; Ron was always taking the Mickey out of her for one reason or another. He’d been heckling her mercilessly for wanting to get rights for House Elves this year, and he still often called her a Know-It-All (at least twice a week), except when he needed help with his homework. 

And Ron had taken pains to avoid Hermione a bit too when she had stuck by Harry after his name had come out of the Goblet. Harry had assumed that _that_ as much as anything was why Hermione had tried to get Harry to see things from Ron’s point of view and understand why he was jealous at the time - so they could all be friends again. And Harry had got it eventually... Surely that was all it was now. 

“He’s probably just jealous of the fact that I already have someone to go to the Ball with and he doesn’t,” Harry sighed. “I’ll try and talk to him about it later.”

Hermione looked pensive for a moment, then her features softened.

“You’re probably right Harry. It felt a bit personal, but maybe I’m just being overly sensitive.” A slightly worried, almost guilty look crept into her eyes. “Just be careful when you talk to him, Harry. There’s no need to upset Ron and spoil things now that you’ve patched things up with him.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see,” Harry said confidently. “I’m going to go and drop my books off and change. You alright now?”

Hermione gave Harry a little smile and nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll see you in a bit then...”

**~o0o~**

Hermione felt a bit fresher after a change of clothes, and she had managed to put Ron out of her mind for the most part. What Harry had said made sense; she had probably just been reading too much into things. But she felt a fresh wave of trepidation when she heard the door to her dorm open as she finished pulling on her jeans. Peeking through her curtain, Hermione spied Lavender and Parvati.

“There you are,” said Parvati, grinning. “Why are you hiding?”

She pounced on Hermione and dragged her by the arm out from her four poster bed. Lavender clutched Hermione’s other arm and jumped up and down, squealing and giggling. Hermione winced, Lavender’s gleeful shrieks piercing her eardrum.

“How did it happen?” Lavender squealed. “You have to tell us everything.”

“Er... How did what happen?” asked Hermione anxiously, having a horrible feeling that she knew exactly what Lavender was asking about.

“You and Harry of course,” said Parvati, rolling her eyes.

“Wait... how did you...?”

“That’s all everyone in the common room is talking about,” Parvati giggled. “Sally-Anne heard it from Fay who heard it from Romilda Vane who overheard Ron telling Seamus and Dean and Neville...”

“...Did Harry get down on one knee? Did he kiss you?” Lavender bounced excitedly on her toes. 

“It’s just a date, not a marriage proposal, Lavender.” Parvati rolled her eyes again. “Besides,” she added with a perceptive look at Hermione, “it’s Harry we’re talking about. If anyone did any kissing, it’s Hermione.”

Blazing hotly as they were, like a furnace turned on full, Hermione presumed her cheeks must be the colour of a ripe tomato by now.

“If you must know, it might not have happened if it weren’t for McGonagall,” Hermione squeaked, utterly bewildered by Parvati and Lavender’s reaction to the news. “She sort of forced the issue - and Harry did ask me if I’d be his girlfriend after. But anyway, you mean you guys don’t mind...?”

“Mind? Why would we mind?” asked Lavender, looking perplexed. “We’ve been wondering for ages when you and Harry would finally hook up.”

“I thought... the way you two were looking at Harry today...”

“Oh! _That!”_ Parvati giggled. “Well, I have to admit, I do fancy Harry a bit - but don’t worry, Hermione. I never thought he’d be that interested in me when he’s always had you. I reckoned Harry would probably ask you to the Ball. That’s what I whispered to Lavender in class, and that’s when we turned around and looked at Harry.”

“Oh!” said Hermione, suddenly grinning, feeling much warmer towards Parvati and Lavender than she had a short while ago. “And yes, I did kiss Harry,” she added for good measure. 

“How was it?” asked Lavender eagerly. “Did sparks fly?”

Hermione briefly hesitated, having never imagined that she would be having this sort of conversation with Parvati and Lavender. But in that moment, Hermione was thrilled to have two giggly girl friends with whom to share her experience. 

“It was magical,” she deadpanned before losing the battle to maintain a straight face, and the girls all fell into a fit of giggles.

**~o0o~**

Harry had expected a thorough ribbing from Fred and George, but other than a few jokes about when they should expect to be invited to the bachelor party and the wedding, they were surprisingly gentle in their teasing. And Harry had been been a bit concerned when Ginny had briefly cornered him in the common room and asked him directly if it was true, but that had turned out better than he had thought it might as well - not perfect, but better.

“Er... Yeah,” he had replied, uncomfortably recalling that she’d had a crush on him at one time. “Hermione and I are going to the Yule Ball together.” 

Ginny had studied him a moment before offering her thoughts on the matter, half-smiling.

“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” she had said quietly. “I sort of had a feeling about you two... I think you’ll be good together.” 

Then Ginny had abruptly turned around and begun walking off. Harry had felt a bit guilty when it looked like she was wiping a tear away, but she had caught him looking at her and grinned back at him.

“Shut up!” 

“What?” For a moment, Harry was taken aback. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all. Now bugger off so I can figure out who’s taking me to the Ball! I don’t need another older brother putting boys off me.” 

Harry had chuckled and shaken his head, reckoning Ginny would be alright after all. Ron was his biggest concern now. 

When Ron managed to avoid talking to him all through dinner, choosing instead to engage with Neville - who also looked a bit glum for that matter - Harry knew something was up. They were both sitting together moodily chasing peas around their dinner plates with their forks. 

At least Hermione seemed to be doing alright, though acting a bit strangely for her. She had been getting on like a house on fire with Lavender and Parvati, chatting and giggling as they pointed at pictures in fashion magazines in between bites of food. It began to make a bit of sense though when Harry caught a few snatches of their whispered conversation. 

“...not unless you want to look like a frumpy old-maid,” Lavender giggled.

“How about that one, Hermione?” said Parvati. “I think it would look better on you.” 

“Are you sure?” Hermione looked skeptical, glancing at Lavender.

“Parvati’s right,” Lavender reassured her. “Trust us Hermione. When we’re done with you, nobody will recognise you.”

“Oh!” Hermione frowned at that.

“But _Harry_ will,” Parvati quickly added. “I promise. We won’t go overboard...”

Then Parvati had caught Harry looking at them. There were blushes all the way around - Harry’s face no less red than theirs - and the girls all giggled madly. Then a familiar voice further down the table was loud enough to catch Harry’s ear. 

“...Barking mad! See Neville? You won’t be missing much.” 

Dean, who was sitting a bit closer to Ron and Neville, shook his head and snorted mirthfully. Seamus sniggered. Harry was curious, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to ask Dean and Seamus how the rest of Ron and Neville’s conversation was going.

Things were awkward in the fourth year dorm that night. Harry’s stomach was knotted with tension as he readied himself for bed. Neville was avoiding looking at him almost as much as Ron, and for the life of him, Harry couldn’t figure out why. One thing at a time, Harry thought to himself, steeling himself to ask Ron what was going on with him.

Ron crawled into bed and pulled his covers up without saying a word.

“Okay, spill,” said Harry to Ron after sitting on his own bed. “What’s up Ron? You haven’t said one word to me all evening. Look, I’m sorry I’ve already got a date, but maybe I can still help... or maybe Hermione can ask...”

“I don’t need your charity, Harry,” Ron said stiffly.

“Look, I just got you back as a friend...” 

“Then drop it, alright? I’ll be fine.”

But Ron didn’t sound fine, and Harry was beginning to think that Hermione had been right after all. And Harry was unwilling to let things fester and get bad between him and Ron again. Surely it was better to get it all out in the open and work things out.

“Ron, please...”

“I said drop it!”

“Ron, if this is about Hermione, I had no idea...”

“Look,” Ron snapped, “Just let it go! After hearing people nattering on about it all afternoon, I finally figured out that you and Hermione were an official item...”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you, but I didn’t know you fan...”

_“Just listen!”_

Harry shut up.

“I get it!” said Ron angrily, “You didn’t know! How could you know? Bloody Hell! _**I**_ didn’t even know until today! ... I don’t even know _**why**_ \- it’s not like me and Hermione ever really got on very well! She’s bloody annoying! ... But I do - I like her, alright?”

When Ron paused, Harry wondered if that was it, or if he had more to say.

“Er... So, what about you and me then?” Harry broached tentatively.

“I’m trying really hard not to be a prat, Harry!” said Ron hoarsely; he really did sound like he was struggling to control himself. “But this... it’s just a bit more than I can handle right now. I dunno! ... Just bloody leave me alone for a bit okay, and eventually I’ll get over it!”

And with that, Ron yanked his crimson and gold curtains closed. 

Harry lay down, feeling more miserable than he had expected to feel the first night of being Hermione’s boyfriend. Ron seemed to be having difficulty accepting it - but he was trying, right? And even if Ron wasn’t able to be Harry’s friend right at this very moment, that didn’t mean Harry shouldn’t keep trying too, did it?

“You know, it could have been you,” Harry muttered wryly at the closed curtains. “McGonagall almost sent a House Elf to fetch you to be my date for the Yule Ball. It was either you or Hermione! ... I thought you’d prefer it this way.”

Harry heard a little snigger from the other side of the curtain; he grinned, and the knot in his stomach started to unwind. Eventually it would work out, and he and Ron would be friends again. Then he glanced over at Neville’s closed curtains and sighed...

**~o0o~**

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” she asked, giving the younger girl a hug.

“I promise,” said Ginny, grinning. “It’s not like Harry ever saw me as more than Ron’s little sister. Besides you two just make sense together - everyone knows it. Luna’s been telling me forever that you and Harry are written in the stars and that I should just get over it.”

“Luna?”

“Luna Lovegood. She’s a third year in Ravenclaw - she’s a friend of mine.” 

Hermione heard clomping on the stairs coming from the boys’ dorm. She turned to look and see who was coming down for breakfast already. It was Neville. He squeaked a bit when he saw Hermione, then darted for the portrait hole, not quite meeting her eyes. Ginny peered thoughtfully at Neville’s backside as he disappeared through the entrance of the common room.

Frowning sadly, wondering if Neville was alright, Hermione brightened up again when she heard footsteps on the stairs and this time it was Harry. 

“Morning Hermione,” said Harry, grinning when she gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Morning Harry. Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked cautiously, taking Harry’s arm.

“Turns out you were right. He’s jealous of me being with you. But we’ll be fine - eventually. He said he just needs a bit of time to sort himself out. It’s Neville I’m worried about. I think he must have fancied you too...”


	3. Lucky Man

Hermione tried her best to ignore all the girls giggling and ogling Harry as she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast with him. They couldn’t all possibly know yet, she told herself, and anyway, it would be unreasonable to expect that they wouldn’t find Harry fanciable after he’d tied Krum for first place. 

But despite her attempts to reason with herself, Hermione couldn’t help finding all the attention lavished on her boyfriend annoying. She determinedly squashed her irritation, reminding herself that there were more important things to worry about - like keeping Harry alive. 

The Great Hall was abuzz with conversation, giggles, and stares - which seemed to become more frequent and intense as breakfast wore on - and Harry looked as discomforted as Hermione herself felt. And poor Harry didn’t even have Ron to help distract him at the moment, as Ron was gravitating towards Neville for the time-being. But perhaps a shift in focus would help keep Harry’s mind occupied.

“So,” said Hermione crisply as Harry munched on a buttery crumpet, “how are you getting on with that Golden Egg Harry?”

Harry swallowed his mouthful before replying. 

“Oh... er, fine,” he said shiftily. 

“You haven’t even cracked it open again since the First Task celebration, have you?” 

Hermione tried to give Harry a hard stare, but found her mouth twitching up at the corners. Harry grinned sheepishly.

“Er... Well, it’s barely been a week and a half since the First Task, and I reckon I’ve got loads of time till February 24th. That’s almost three months away.” 

“But who knows how long it’ll take us to work out how to decipher the screeching?” Hermione reasonably pointed out. “And _then_ \- once we’ve figured out what the Second Task _**is**_ \- we’ll have to find the best spells to help you get through it and practice them. ... And the Second Task is hardly going to be easier than the first, is it? The tasks are just likely to get even more dangerous.”

Harry paled slightly, looking thoughtful as he considered Hermione’s words.

“Blimey! When you put it like that...” he muttered. “You’re right Hermione! I dunno what I was thinking!” Then a puzzled look crossed his features. “Wait... what did you mean, _‘we’?_ I thought I was supposed to work out the Clue by myself. You know... Triwiz rules? You even said so yourself.”

This time it was Hermione who looked slightly abashed, her cheeks growing warmer as they turned pink. She bit her lip and fluttered her eyelashes. 

“Well, yes, I did say that. But that was before...”

Harry raised his eyebrows, unable to prevent a little smirk from crossing his lips. 

“Besides, the other Champions have an unfair advantage, having three years’ worth of magical training and knowledge on you,” Hermione added defensively. “And... and McGonagall as good as said that I should keep helping you.” 

“I’m not complaining,” said Harry quietly. “And McGonagall’s right - I need you Hermione. You’re the smartest, loyalest, kindest person I know. ... You’ve stuck by me through everything, and I wouldn’t have got past the Dragon without your help...” 

Another thought seemed to strike Harry; he cast his eyes down, looking deeply disturbed as he continued. 

“I probably wouldn’t’ve survived this long without you. I... I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been - all the time I’ve wasted when I should be learning as much magic as possible! There’s a bloody evil genius after me, and I picked rubbish like Divination because it looked easy...”

Hating to see his confidence so shaken, Hermione quickly took Harry’s fork-free hand in her own and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Harry, don’t! ... Don’t beat yourself up like that,” she reassured him. “You’re brilliant in Defence - better than me - and amazing at Charms...”

“Took me ages to get Accio though...”

“That was just because you couldn’t concentrate. You were too upset about Ron ditching you and all the idiots wearing Potter Stinks badges. You would have have got it in no time flat otherwise. You’re brilliant in Charms! ... You can do a Corporeal Patronus! Not just anybody can produce a Patronus Charm, especially not a Corporeal Patronus - they’re beyond NEWT levels. And yours is off-the charts! It’s easily as powerful as Dumbledore’s.”

“It... it is?” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, looking both surprised and skeptical.

“Yes Harry, it is! Last year, you chased off over a hundred Dementors with your Patronus. _**I**_ wouldn’t have survived without _you,_ Harry - none of us would have. You saved us all - you, me, and Sirius - from being Soul Murdered by those horrid wraiths.

“That’s almost unheard of. Most wizards who can perform Corporeal Patronuses can only manage to ward off between ten and twenty Dementors at best. The only other wizard powerful enough to chase off a hundred Dementors all by himself with a single Patronus is Dumbledore. He did it last year too, when all those Dementors swarmed you during the match.

“You didn’t see it because...” Hermione shuddered, remembering that terrifying quidditch match - the night she’d almost lost it, thinking Harry was dead when he hit the ground. “...because you passed out and fell off your broom.”

Harry peered at Hermione as if he were remembering something too. He returned Hermione’s comforting hand squeeze under the table with one of his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For making you cry.”

“It wasn’t your fault you fell off your broom - the Dementors...”

“No - I mean because I didn’t talk to you for a month after you told McGonagall about the Firebolt, when you were just trying to save my life. That was horrible of me...”

“I should have talked to you about it first,” Hermione moaned. 

“You tried to, remember? But I was being an idiot,” Harry said firmly. “I should have taken it to McGonagall to be checked myself. I knew there was something weird about getting the most expensive broom in the world anonymously, even before you showed up in the common room. 

“I _**knew**_ Dumbledore or McGonagall or Lupin wouldn’t have forked out that much for me - I even told Ron so myself before you showed up - but I didn’t care. I ignored my own gut instinct because I was so excited to fly it. If Sirius really _had_ been a bloodthirsty maniac, and you hadn’t done what you did, I could have died...”

Hermione’s heart began to race as Harry leaned in closer; she wondered if he was about to kiss her, in front of everyone at breakfast. But the moment was spoiled when Draco Malfoy swaggered up to the Gryffindor table, Pansy Parkinson at his side, both of them chortling.

“So is it true then, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “You actually have a date with Granger? Skeeter actually got that bit right after all, did she, about you and Granger being besotted?”

“So what if she did?” Harry retorted coolly, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s just a bit odd, considering the bit that Skeeter got wrong - you know, the rubbish about your ‘stunningly pretty’ girlfriend. I just reckoned someone of your station could do better than show up to a fancy shindig with a bushy haired, buck toothed Mudblood.”

Hermione scowled. Parvati and Lavender both shot vicious glares at Malfoy.

“I _like_ Hermione’s hair - she’s perfect just the way she is,” said Harry, his voice even. “I almost feel sorry for Parkinson though, if you’re planning on making her get a nose-job before you think she’s good enough to go to the Ball with you.” 

Hermione was startled, and under other circumstances might have admonished Harry for commenting on Pansy’s looks. But having so recently endured many of Pansy’s taunts about looking like a chipmunk or a jackrabbit, Hermione found it difficult to feel much sympathy for her. And she reckoned that Harry had hit uncomfortably close to home when Pansy gasped, suddenly clutching her hand to her face and shooting a dirty look at Draco. Seamus and Ron both sniggered.

“Watch your mouth, Potter,” sneered Malfoy, his pallid cheeks flushing. “Or you might not make it to the Second Task.”

“Right, because I’m really worried about you after facing a Dragon,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

Fuming now, Malfoy huffed; he grabbed Pansy’s arm hard, making her squeak, and stalked off with her. 

A number of emotions rushing through her veins, Hermione was very pleased with Harry’s cool-headed response and sharp comebacks. But some of his proclamations had left her with butterflies in her stomach. Of course, Harry could have just been being kind, defending her from Draco Malfoy’s taunts. Hermione dithered for a moment before deciding to ask.

“Harry - what you said... about my hair...?” 

“I love your hair!” said Harry firmly. “And I noticed recently that you shrank your teeth a bit, but I thought they were fine just the way they were. I meant it when I said you’re perfect just as you are, and yesterday when I said that you’re beautiful!”

Hermione blushed. Harry seemed to think he’d said enough, because he turned pink and focused on finishing his breakfast, digging into his scrambled eggs and bacon.

As the day wore on, many of the girls who had been eyeballing Harry and giggling earlier began looking very disappointed as it became more clear that the rumours sweeping through the castle about Harry taking Hermione to the Yule Ball were true. By the end of the day, everyone seemed to know.

Harry, determined to make up for lost time, hadn’t hesitated when Hermione suggested that they make a trip to the library to see if there was anything which would help with the Golden Egg clue. Unfortunately they had found next to nothing in the books about Golden Eggs, excepting a snippet in a chapter in a book about King Midas - an ancient Greek Alchemist who had apparently worked out the secret of turning things into gold.

“...but that’s it,” said Hermione, slamming the book shut in exasperation. “Just a passage about him transforming goose eggs into gold. And nothing about it seems relevant to screeching eggs.”

“Hmm... D’you think that’s where the story of the goose who laid the golden egg came from?” asked Harry.

“You know, I think it might, actually,” said Hermione. “But that gives me another idea...” 

As Hermione darted off to look for another book, she noticed that Viktor Krum was yet again lurking in the library, this time with a perplexed look on his face. But by the time she returned with a book on the reproduction cycles of magical land and water fowl, he was gone. Hermione plopped down in her seat, noticing Harry with his head in a book about Banshees.

“Banshees?” she said questioningly. 

“Well, it sounded horrible when I opened the egg - like screaming Banshees, so I thought maybe this book would have something about translating Banshee shrieks, but there’s really nothing in here except to say that their screams are actually a defence mechanism.”

“Oh, that’s a very clever idea, Harry. It’s a shame that it didn’t pan out,” She stared at Harry for a moment, quite impressed with his brainwave, which set her on another track of thought. “Of course!” she burst out, “We’ve been going about this all wrong! This isn’t about the egg at all...” 

Hermione jumped up again, and ran off to look for more books. When she found the section on magical languages, Hermione pulled a dozen books off the shelf, and returned, puffing from exertion under the weight of the heavy tomes. Harry’s eyes boggled at the sight of all the books.

“You take that pile, Harry,” she said, pushing several books towards him. “Look for any magical languages described as sounding screechy or screamy to humans...”

“Your pile is loads bigger,” Harry noted wryly.

“I’m a faster reader...” Hermione shot him an apologetic look, almost as soon as she had said it, horrified, and hoping she hadn’t damaged their burgeoning new relationship. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like you’re slow. Your reading speed is perfectly normal.”

“No need to apologise, Hermione,” said Harry, grinning. “I know you’re a genius, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Blushing furiously, Hermione propped up the first volume in front of her, hiding her strawberry-red cheeks. Indeed, Harry was only halfway through his first book by the time Hermione cracked open her third. She had nearly finished it before she found something which looked promising.

“Harry,” she squeaked excitedly as her eyeballs flew across the page she was perusing, “I think I might have found something. Listen: _Mermish, the language of the Merfolk - also known as the Nereid - is a language harsh, sometimes even painful, to human ears, and indecipherable above water. However, once the Nereid is submerged, the sounds of its utterance is magically transmogrified, which is then interpreted by the brain of the listener to be in the language of the listener’s native tongue._

“ _It is important to note that this does not connote the reverse to be the case. In order to carry on a conversation with members of the Nereid species, a human must learn how to speak and understand the Natural Language_...”

“Blimey!” swore Harry, dropping his book on the table and bolting up from his chair. “That could be it Hermione! Maybe I need to open the Egg underwater. Let’s go get it and see.”

“What? Right now?” 

“Yeah, while it’s still light outside. It gets dark too early this time of year.”

“Oh, er... okay.” Hermione hurriedly threw her bag over her shoulder, and trotted after Harry, suddenly comprehending his spur of the moment plan.

**~o0o~**

Once back at Gryffindor Tower, Harry raced up the stairs to the dormitory, tossed his book bag on his bed, and flung open his trunk, retrieving his Egg and shoving it in the pocket of his robes. Dashing back down to the common room, Harry looked impatiently around for Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief to see her arrive moments later, looking slightly out of breath.

“Come on,” he said eagerly, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her towards the portrait hole.

“Harry,” she wheezed as they ran through the castle, “maybe there’s some other way - perhaps a tub...”

“Then we’d have to _find_ a tub somewhere,” Harry argued. “This is quicker.” 

“Fair point,” Hermione agreed. “As long as you’re not fussed about the cold.”

Once he threw open the castle doors, Harry had to admit it was freezing outside; icy rain which was nearly sleet fell from slate-grey clouds. But he’d never let cold and wet stop him before, and he wasn’t about to start now. Hand in hand, he and Hermione pelted down the hillside until they reached the edge of the lake.

The surface of the cold water rippled where the raindrops fell, and the dark silhouette of the Durmstrang ship stood out against the already snow-covered mountains surrounding the lake, cutting a breathtaking wintry scene. His hands shaking slightly, Harry held the Golden Egg in his hand and kneeled beside the lakeshore.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, grinning at Hermione. 

Then, taking a deep breath, Harry thrust his hands into the freezing water; he opened the Egg and leaned over, plunging his head in for a listen. He was surprised when another head suddenly appeared next to his own under the surface of the lake, but he tried to maintain his concentration, thrilled that Hermione’s research had paid off. Instead of the sound of a thousand screeching banshees, an ethereal seraphic choir could be heard. 

There was something oddly enticing about the unearthly, seductive chorus of feminine voices, despite the somewhat dismal nature of the song itself. If Hermione weren’t his girlfriend now, Harry could imagine that he might have to follow those enchanting voices no matter where they led. But whatever magic the voices held were no match for her.

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_  
_We cannot sing above the ground,_  
_And while you're searching ponder this,_  
_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_  
_An hour long you'll have to look,_  
_And to recover what we took,_  
_But past an hour, the prospect’s black,_  
_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._

Harry’s head broke the surface with a splash as he gasped for breath, wiping his shaggy drenched fringe from his eyes and replacing his glasses. He glanced at Hermione who was sputtering and shivering beside him, her normally bushy hair dripping and plastered to her head.

“You know you didn’t have to...” he began.

“You d...didn’t th...think I was g...going to be left out, d...did you?” Hermione interjected, her teeth chattering.

“Not really,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want you to freeze to death. Anyway, you deserved to listen for yourself - you were bang on about the Mermish - You’re a bloody genius Hermione! I dunno if I’d’ve ever worked that out by myself.”

“J...j...just a b...bit of research, H...Harry,” Hermione retorted, managing to look a bit pleased and embarrassed all at once. “A...anyway, it was y... _your_ idea w...which inspired me. You’re b...b...brilliant too!”

Hermione shivered again, her lips turning blue. Harry didn’t know what came over him: maybe it was Hermione’s high praises, maybe it was her loyalty, or the thrill of discovery, or the fact that she’d helped him solve yet another problem, or that she looked beautiful and half-frozen and in need of warming. Whatever it was, Harry moved as if possessed, leaning towards Hermione, and kissed her.

Hermione was taken by surprise when Harry chose that moment to kiss her, but she’d been hoping ever since that morning that the right opportunity would arise again and she gave herself to the moment, the heat of the kiss thawing her frozen lips. Shivers of elation instead of cold rushed through her veins and Hermione took Harry’s damp head in her hands, not wanting the kiss to end.

Of course, eventually it did have to end, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling vaguely disappointed when their lips parted. Harry must have caught the yearning look and misread it, she thought, when he suddenly flushed a deep shade of red plum. 

“Er.... Sorry,” he muttered. “I just... I thought... er, you looked kissable.”

Hermione almost giggled, but caught herself, beaming back at Harry as she shook her head, feeling her own face grow hotter. 

“Don’t be sorry!” she squeaked. “It was lovely. I just... er, I didn’t want it to be over.” 

And to prove it, Hermione leaned towards her surprised looking Harry and pressed her lips to his again. They both lost themselves in one another for an endless moment, and when the second steamy kiss was finished, Harry looked utterly dazed, grinning giddily.

Footsteps crunching on frosty pebbles broke the moment. Hermione and Harry both scrambled to their feet, faces blazing with embarrassment.

Harry swallowed nervously, eyeing the surly looking figure of Viktor Krum who was braving the icy rain in jogging gear and trainers. Harry’s hand hovered near his wand, recalling Sirius’s admonition to be cautious around Karkaroff’s students. He was startled when a sardonic smirk crossed Krum’s features.

“So, is true then - Skeeter’s article and rumours zat you and Her-my-own-ninny are together,” said Krum, his voice heavily accented. 

“Er... what?” Harry gaped at Krum. That was the last thing he had expected the Durmstrang Champion to bring up. Hermione seemed equally stunned, apparently to the point of speechlessness.

“I vos hoping zat were only rumours,” Krum tried to explain. “I see Skeeter’s article, but I do not believe. Zen I hear ozzers say is true today, and I am not so certain. I hoped to ask Her-my-own-ninny for date - but now I see truth. Please can forgive me?”

“Forgive you? Oh, er... Yeah! Of course,” said Harry, still amazed, but starting to feel a lot friendlier toward the Durmstrang Champion. Without the scowl on his face, Krum didn’t seem at all the sort who would be into Dark Magic.

“You... you were actually going to ask _me_ out?” Hermione squeaked, having finally found her voice. “Why me?”

Harry grinned at Hermione’s utterly bewildered expression. Krum glanced at Harry, looking like he was carefully considering his words before speaking to Hermione.

“All I can say, is zat Harry Potter is very lucky man to haff you as girlfriend. I must now look elsewhere for date.” Krum smiled wryly, then turned back to Harry. “I haff heard you are very good flyer, Harry Potter - Seeker like me. Perhaps ve could fly together some time?”

Harry felt a little woozy, astonished yet again to be treated as an equal by the older Champion and Professional Quidditch player. 

“Er... yeah!” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “That sounds great! And it’s Harry... just Harry is fine.” 

“My friends call me Viktor.” Krum reached his hand out to shake Harry’s. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Harry. ... And you also, Her-my-own-ninny,” he added with a little bow.

“If... if you’d like, I might know someone who would be interested in a date,” said Hermione. 

Viktor looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. 

“If she is friend of yours, she must be nice. Perhaps she vould like to meet tomorrow. Now I must take my leave - return to ship before too dark.” 

Harry and Hermione both watched their new friend traipse off along the lakeshore to where the Durmstrang ship was docked, growing soggier as the rain continued to fall from the darkening skies. Then the quiet pair made their way back up the hill to the castle, both wrapped up in their thoughts. 

Halfway up the hill, under a copse of pines, Harry suddenly halted. Hermione stopped and turned to give him a puzzled look. Harry took Hermione’s hands and peered earnestly into her big brown eyes.

“He’s right you know,” said Harry, his heart thumping in his ears. “Viktor’s right! ... I am really lucky... and Malfoy’s an idiot! Viktor could have any girl he wanted, but it was _you_ who caught his fancy, Hermione. ... He obviously sees what I see - how gorgeous you really are! ...” 

Hermione bit her lip and blushed, fluttering her eyelashes shyly. 

Harry swallowed, hesitating, wondering if things were moving too quickly. But the more he thought about it, though the revelations of the last couple of days had been profound and coming at him fast, they had been more or less the ripping open of a curtain which had been covering the steady build up of three and a half years worth of previously unacknowledged feelings. Harry decided to go for broke and let the chips fall where they may. 

“...You’re the best thing that ever happened to me!” he continued. “I... I love you Hermione!” 

Hermione’s eyes widened, her heart soaring, stunned at Harry’s earnest declaration. She trembled slightly as she melted in Harry’s green gaze. 

“I love you too Harry,” she murmured. The next thing she knew their lips had met again for another deep, burning kiss - a kiss which curled her toes and kept her warm even after, through the icy downpour all the rest of the way to the castle.


	4. Physical Activities

Harry and Hermione had received a few odd glances when they returned to Gryffindor Tower, wet and dripping all over the scarlet and gold rugs. But after changing into clean dry clothes, and settling together in a little settee near the fireplace in the common room, nobody gave them a second look. For a few minutes they both basked in the heat of the crackling flames, simply enjoying the warmth. 

“So, what do you think about the rhyme, Harry?” asked Hermione, finally breaking the silence.

“Well, seems pretty obvious seeing as it was in Mermish,” Harry replied. “The Merpeople are somehow going to steal something of mine, something I’ll really miss. They’ll hide it in the lake somewhere and I’ll have an hour to get it back. Pretty basic, really! ... Dunno what they’d steal from me though. 

“I doubt they’d know about the Marauder’s Map or my Invisibility Cloak - and I reckon they’d have to leave me my wand. So, maybe my Firebolt?” 

“Yes...” Hermione nodded slowly, her brows knitted in thought. “That’s more or less what I was thinking too. It does seem to be the most logical interpretation of the song...”

“...but it seems like there’s more to it, doesn’t it?” said Harry, picking up on Hermione’s uncertainty. “Anyway, whatever it is, isn’t the most important bit right now. My biggest problems are that I don’t know how to swim, and I reckon I’ll need a spell or some sort of magic to breathe under water.”

“What? You’ve never been swimming?” Hermione peered at Harry with surprise.

“The Dursleys,” Harry muttered, “They always left me locked in my... er, at home, when they took Dudley swimming, or left me at Mrs Figg’s when they went on day-trips to the beach. And my primary school didn’t have a pool.”

Hermione scowled, catching Harry’s near slip. She’d gathered from some of the things that Harry had been more open about over the years that the Dursleys weren’t at all nice to him, and she knew that Harry had had bars on his bedroom window from the story of how the Weasley brothers had rescued him the summer before second year.

But there was something much more than simple dislike and strict parenting which Harry would almost never talk about. Hermione vowed to herself to press him on it eventually, but now didn’t really seem like the right time.

“That’s alright Harry, I can teach you all the basic swim strokes,” she said gently. “Though it’ll be a bit hard learning in the lake during the winter - I suppose we can look in Advanced Charms textbooks from later years or in the library for warming charms.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks Hermione.” Harry paused for a moment, and Hermione could see another query forming in his mind, this one apparently even more anxiety inducing. “Er... I don’t suppose you could teach me how to dance too?”

“Actually, I can,” Hermione replied, smiling, thrilled to finally have the opportunity to put her skills to use. “Mum and Dad gave me lessons when I was little...” She left it there, not liking to admit that nobody had ever wanted to dance with her at any of the functions she had attended with her parents - not that most boys were ever very keen to dance anyway, at any age apparently.

“Brilliant!” said Harry, breathing a huge sigh of relief...

**~o0o~**

The last weeks of the term before the start of the Christmas Holidays were busier than Harry had ever imagined they could be. Not only was he contending with piles of homework that some teachers like McGonagall and Snape were doling out, but now, he also had swim and dance lessons with Hermione.

And though he much preferred the swimming and dancing lessons, Harry found himself with a new appreciation for studying his other subjects with Hermione as well. Harry reckoned that Snape would be in for a big surprise when he aced the Antidotes Exam that he was certain Snape had planned for the last day of the term - as long as he managed to concentrate and ignore Snape’s usual deliberate attempts to antagonise and sabotage him during exams.

Hermione had found a Warming Charm in one of the Advanced Charms books, and they had both managed to learn it in one afternoon, which made swim lessons in the increasingly icy lake much more palatable - especially when it began snowing properly. They still hadn’t discovered anything in the library which would allow Harry to breathe underwater, but there was plenty of time for that now.

Harry’s biggest concern after that, wasn’t so much finding unused classrooms in which to practice dancing with Hermione, but making sure they wouldn’t be caught off guard by other students walking in on them. He was still utterly embarrassed by the idea of others seeing him dance, certain that he would be the only Champion with two left feet. So he had taken to bringing along the Marauder’s Map to find the most isolated unused classrooms, and had practiced Colloportus, the Locking Charm, to keep other students out.

Meanwhile, though neither were actively avoiding Harry and Hermione anymore, Ron and Neville more or less kept to themselves, vacillating between trying to pluck up the courage to ask girls to the Yule Ball, and just giving up the ghost, opting to go stag instead. 

“Why do they all hang out in packs?” Neville moaned as they passed a gaggle of giggling girls in the hallway. “How are you supposed to get one alone to ask?”

“Dunno mate,” Ron shrugged, in one of his more cynical moments. “Is it even worth the trouble though? I mean, sure, girls are nice to look at, and they smell nice, but they’re all blooming mad - even Hermione’s gone barmy this year!”

“I suppose,” Neville muttered, not sure who Ron was trying to convince more, himself or Neville.

“...Still,” said Ron, apparently shifting into a more hopeful phase as he eyeballed an exceptionally pretty blonde Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass, whom he’d normally never look at twice if he could help it, simply on a matter of principle, “it wouldn’t be all bad I guess - except for the dancing bit! Who’re you thinking of trying it on with?”

“I _was_ thinking maybe of asking Hannah Abbott, but I took too long working up the nerve - it’s too late now,” Neville sighed. “Some Ravenclaw bloke asked her - Anthony Goldstein, I think his name is.”

“Sorry Nev! That’s arsed,” said Ron absentmindedly as he stared, slack-jawed, at several older, curvaceous Beauxbatons girls who were dawdling near the entrance of the Great Hall, tittering as they in turn eyed Cedric Diggory. 

Ron was so distracted that he didn’t hear when someone called out his name. Neville, who had momentarily been engrossed by the buxom figures as well, finally heard when the voice called out a third time, and nudged him.

“Oi... Ron!”

Ron swiveled around, vaguely annoyed to have his ogling interrupted. He stiffened slightly when he saw who it was, still not entirely sure how he felt about things - not sure that he was ready yet - maybe if he had a date of his own - perhaps one of those Beauxbatons... 

“Oh... Hi Harry! What’s up?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual, his eyes briefly flickering towards Harry’s girlfriend. 

“Viktor... Er... Krum that is,” Harry began, looking a bit awkward himself, “he and I are going to chase a Snitch around the Pitch for a bit...”

Ron goggled at Harry, mouth agape. 

“Are you mental?” he gasped. “It’s practically a blizzard out there.”

“Er... yeah, I know,” said Harry, grinning. “It’s normal weather for Krum though - Durmstrang is somewhere in Norway, north of the Arctic Circle, according to him. I, er, just thought you might like to come and watch - get a chance to meet him. I know what Sirius said, but Krum’s alright really - you’d like him.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really!” Harry nodded, then glanced at Neville. “You’re invited too, Neville.”

A surge of excitement welled up inside Ron, then crashed against the shoals of his envy, and something else, something even more painful. For a moment, the idea of Harry being chums with Viktor Krum felt like a stab in his gut. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that Harry was offering him, Ron, a chance to meet Krum and make friends too... Finally, Ron’s excitement won out. 

“Yeah! Alright Harry, that sounds smashing!” said Ron eagerly. “How about it Neville, you coming too?” he asked his other friend. 

“Er... yeah! Okay!” Neville squeaked, his face lighting up. 

Neville couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t dreaming, having missed the World Cup on account of the fact that his Gran thought it a boorish activity. He wasn’t the ultimate Krum fan that Ron was, but the notion that he’d finally get a chance to see the world’s best (and youngest in history) Professional Seeker, in action, wasn’t lost on Neville. 

As it turned out, a few others had apparently been invited to watch as well. Ginny, and Parvati and Lavender were already bundled up in coats and scarves and waiting in the stands, whispering and giggling; a young Ravenclaw girl with big dreamy looking eyes and dirty blonde hair was sitting next to Ginny too. Lavender looked especially pleased with herself about something.

Shortly after Neville and Ron took seats, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan showed up, followed moments later by Seamus and Dean, then Katie Bell, Alicia, and Angelina Johnson. 

The Snitch was released. Harry and Viktor waited a few minutes for it to zip into the air and lose itself in the thickly falling flurries of snow, then they kicked off, soaring up above the stands and swooping around the goal posts.

The news that Harry Potter and Viktor Krum were flying around the Quidditch Pitch together had clearly started spreading through Hogwarts like a wildfire, as students from other Houses braved the weather and the stands began to fill.

**~o0o~**

“ _What?_ Potter and Krum? No way!” Draco scoffed at his disheveled Housemate who was brushing snow from his shoulders onto the green and silver rug in the Slytherin common room. “You sure you weren’t seeing things - it’s been practically whiteout conditions all day.”

“They’re out there right now,” said Theodore Nott, “Come back with me and see for yourself.” 

“Probably a challenge match,” Draco snorted, standing up. “Why else would Krum want to hang out with Potter?”

“Dunno about that.” Theo shrugged as he followed Draco back to their dorm so that Draco could get his coat. “I saw them chatting in the courtyard yesterday after classes let out for the week - they looked pretty chummy to me. Potter’s pet mudblood was there and some other Gryffindor bints too - they were all laughing it up about something.”

Ten minutes later, after wading through the snowdrifts piling around the castle, Draco stood on a bluff overlooking the Quidditch Pitch with Theo. Retrieving his Omnioculars from his coat pocket, Draco peered through them and spun the dial. His face darkened as the two silhouettes on brooms, barely visible through the snow flurries from a distance, came into focus. 

“Un-fucking-believable!” Draco swore, growing angrier by the minute at the Durmstrang student’s betrayal. “I’ll have to tell father about this,” he muttered. 

“See? What’d I tell you?” said Theo, smirking slightly at Draco’s familiar refrain.

**~o0o~**

Harry was in his element when he was flying, and he had flown in more than enough bad weather to put on a good showing. By the time he and Viktor decided to call it quits, they had both managed to catch the Snitch once each. Grinning, his cheeks red from the biting cold, Harry climbed off his broom, sinking into the white powdery drifts on the lawn of the pitch.

“You are most excellent flyer, Harry,” said Viktor as he and Harry strode toward the edge of the pitch. “And zat Wronski Feint vos very nice manoeuvre...” 

“I learned it from watching you at the World Cup,” Harry fairly pointed out. 

“Ah! I see! I may regret zat some day, should ve ever meet professionally,” Viktor chuckled.

As Harry drew closer to the stands, Ron, Neville, Hermione, and the rest of his friends were waiting, some of them very excited to meet Viktor Krum for the first time - though at least two of their fellow Gryffindors had met him more than once already. Viktor caught sight of the bouncy girl with wavy golden hair spilling out from under the hood of her parka as she leapt up and down next to the girl with long dark hair.

“By ze vay, I am liking Laffender very much! She has much joy. Please, you can thank Her-my-o-nee for me for introduction?”

“Yeah, of course. No problem, Viktor,” said Harry, breaking into another grin.

**~o0o~**

Sunday was the last Hogsmeade Day of the term, the last chance to shop for presents before Christmas without resorting to Owl Order, and Hermione had decided that she and Harry could afford to take some time away from studying for a visit. Harry thought it might be good practice, a test run for a date with Hermione, and attacked his hair with a wet comb, uselessly trying to make it stay flat and straight in the right places.

Thankfully the snowstorm had largely come to an end, and only a few light flakes swirled from the pearly grey skies above. As usual, Hogsmeade was as pretty as a Victorian Christmas painting at winter, lampposts decorated with Holly Wreaths, windowpanes crisscrossed with webs of frost, glittering icicles hanging from eaves, and thatched roofs covered with snow, looking like gingerbread houses.

Harry reckoned any date with Hermione in town ought to include a lengthy visit to a bookstore or library, and made Tomes and Scrolls their first stop. He was pleased to see he was right on the mark when Hermione beamed at him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. When Hermione disappeared down one of the aisles, Harry took the opportunity to purchase a book she had peered at longingly, and a book he knew that Ron would read as well. 

After the usual tour through the village, with stops in Zonko’s and Honeydukes, Harry’s only quandary was where to eat lunch. He slowed as they neared Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop, and was relieved to no end when the little crinkle between Hermione’s eyebrows indicated her distaste. He sped up and made a beeline for the Three Broomsticks.

They sat in a cozy booth near the fire, plates in front of them piled with bangers and mash, drinking frothy butterbeers from mugs. The day was almost perfect - it would have been totally perfect save for one little event. Hermione, giggling at Harry’s foamy butterbeer moustache, risked a proper kiss, believing their booth to be secluded enough from general viewing.

The flash of a camera bulb went off. Harry groaned and Hermione turned livid to see that Rita Skeeter and her cameraman had sneakily ensconced themselves at a table nearby, behind a leafy ficus. A little smirk crossed Rita’s scarlet lips as she stood up and beckoned her cameraman. Harry and Hermione glowered at their backsides as they departed from the tavern.

“She just can’t leave us alone,” Hermione muttered angrily. “As if there’s nothing better to report on.”

“Could’ve been worse though, I suppose,” Harry sighed. “Imagine if we’d never got together and you’d come here with Viktor instead. Skeeter would’ve turned us all into some sort of ridiculous love triangle. That would’ve been horrible.” 

“That’s true,” Hermione agreed, unable to help a little giggle at the idea. “Other than a little minor embarrassment, I don’t really see how she could do much harm with a picture of a little kiss,” she added with a shake of her head.

**~o0o~**

The last week before the term came to an end flew by. Fortunately (?) the Blast-Ended Skrewts were now too dangerous to work with, so the last Care of Magical Creatures lesson became an excuse to play in the snow and chat with Hagrid, swapping war stories about aggravating encounters with Rita Skeeter.

Some of the other teachers lightened up a bit as well. Flitwick organised a game involving colour charms with a prize for the best work, and everyone had a good laugh as students ended up with orange polka dots on green skin, or purple stripes on yellow, and a myriad of other colour and shape combinations adorning their features. 

Hermione almost won when she turned Harry crimson and gold, patterned in the shape of Phoenix feathers. Harry barely edged her out, painting Hermione’s skin with kaleidoscopic swirls of colour, every hue of the rainbow, and silvery sparkles sprinkled in for good measure. 

Other teachers were far less inclined to let students mess around or play frivolous games. Professors McGonagall and Snape kept the students’ noses to the grindstone, and Moody would no more let students skive off than he would burst into a love song and shower everyone with rose petals. 

Though Harry was beginning to wonder if something was going on with Moody, when he spied Bartemious Crouch on the Marauder’s Map in either Moody’s office, or his quarters, several times when he was checking for unused classrooms unoccupied by students getting up to the sorts of things he had been starting to think about a lot lately himself. 

“There’s something weird going on, Hermione,” said Harry, the third time he spotted Crouch on the Map in as many days. “Why’s he hanging out at Hogwarts when there’s no Task happening? ... and in Moody’s office or quarters when Moody isn’t there?”

“Perhaps he’s meeting with Moody to go over security at Hogwarts during the tournament, given recent events at the World Cup,” Hermione suggested. “They are both ex-Aurors after all. And he could just be waiting for Moody to return from somewhere else on Hogwarts’ grounds the times we’re looking at the Map.” 

“I suppose,” Harry muttered uncertainly. “That does actually sort of make sense...”

“Anyway,” Hermione interjected primly, trying to get Harry to focus, “you still need to work on your waltzing, Harry. Why don’t you put the Map down for now - you can keep an eye on it later.” 

“What? Don’t you like squashed toes then?” Harry retorted, wearing a cheeky expression as he put the Map aside. 

“Actually, I don’t really mind at all, as long as they’re not _my_ toes,” Hermione quipped back, raising her eyebrows. Harry chortled.

“Alright, I really _don’t_ want to look like an idiot out there,” he said. “It just feels weird, moving in three step rhythms when I’ve got two feet.”

“It does take a bit of getting used to at first,” Hermione admitted. “But you’re brilliant at flying, you’ve got exceptional hand-eye coordination - which is why you’re so good at spellwork too - and you’re almost better at swimming than me already. You’re obviously a _natural_ at physical activities Harry! Once you get the hang of this, you’ll probably be better than nearly everyone else on the dancefloor.” 

Harry was a bit startled at Hermione’s proclamation, not to mention extremely chuffed. Feeling a bit bolder than usual, as his feet began somehow moving of their own accord in time to the waltz on the little Wizard Wireless which Hermione had been bringing to the lessons, Harry leaned in for a kiss. It was the steamiest kiss he had given Hermione yet in the past couple of weeks as he trailed his lips to nuzzle Hermione’s neck.

Hermione giggled. “That tickles Harry. ... And that’s not exactly what I meant by _physical activities_.”

“Am I doing it wrong then?” Harry asked sincerely. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Hermione shook her bushy head, peering back into his earnest green orbs, her breath quickening, “You’re doing it perfectly!”


	5. Early Christmas

It was Thursday, the last night before the last day of the end of the term. Sure enough, just as Harry had expected, Snape had announced that he would be springing an exam on Antidotes on the class on Friday. He had eyed Harry with a smug looking sneer on his face as he had done so, no doubt expecting Harry to fail miserably. Harry had stared back at Snape defiantly, knowing that he had this in the bag if Snape didn’t mess with him.

“Evil bastard, he is,” Ron complained bitterly that night in the common room,“Spoiling the last bit of term with a load of studying.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, looking up from her Potions notes. Harry chuckled, looking up from his own Antidote notes, glad not to be on the receiving end of one of those looks for a change.

“Hmm... not exactly putting much effort into it though, are you?” Hermione said waspishly as Ron delicately placed another card on top of his fortress of Exploding Snap cards. “And I’d think you would do better to be studying too, Neville,” she added, seeing him working on his own tower of cards.

“I’m just going to flub it anyway,” Neville moaned. “Snape hates me. What’s the point?”

“Besides, it’s Christmas Hermione,” Ron grumbled. “Give it a rest why don’t you?”

“Suit yourselves,” Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes. 

Ron ignored her, concentrating hard as he carefully added another card to his castle. The entire construction collapsed, exploding in Ron’s face, leaving a few scorch marks on his cheeks and singed eyebrows. 

“Nice look, Ron,” sniggered Fred, who had just come down from the dorms with George. “Smouldering eyebrows! That’ll go well with your dress-robes.”

Ron scowled at his brothers. 

“Haven’t you two got anything better to do?” he sniped.

“Actually, we wanted to send a letter,” George replied. “Fred’s just joking. Can we borrow Pigwidgeon?”

“Oh!” The irritation faded from Ron’s face. “Sorry, Pig’s already off delivering our Christmas Cards to the Burrow.” 

“You can borrow Hedwig, if you like,” Harry suggested. George glanced at Fred inquiringly. Fred shrugged.

“Yeah, alright then. Thanks Harry!” said George, turning to leave. But Fred didn’t seem quite ready to go just yet; he peered shrewdly at Ron and Neville.

“So, you two found dates to the Ball yet?” asked Fred, in a casual tone. 

Neville turned pink, and tried to hide his face behind his tower of Snap cards. The scowl returned to Ron’s face.

“No!” Ron groused. “You know we haven’t!”

“Well, you two should get a move on then,” said Fred pointedly, “before all the good ones get snapped up.” 

George rolled his eyes. “Come on Fred, let’s get this over with.”

Fred inexplicably shot a wink at Neville and finally turned to follow his Twin to the Owlery. Neville’s shade of pink deepened. Ginny, who had been sitting nearby reading and glancing up at intervals, frowned as she watched Fred and George departing.

“Fred’s right, Neville!” said Ron as soon as the Twins were gone, “We _should_ get a move on! We don’t want to end up with a pair of Trolls.” 

Neville’s eyes darted shiftily away as pink turned to crimson.

“A pair of _what?”_ snapped Ginny, rounding angrily on her brother as she slammed her book shut. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron.

“We-e-ell,” said Ron slowly, eyeing his infuriated sister warily, “I’d rather go with a Slytherin like Daphne Greengrass, than with someone like Eloise Midgen, let’s say...”

“So you’ll have anyone absolutely horrible, as long as they’re hot little numbers - is that it?”

“Er... yeah. That sounds about right,” Ron agreed, gawking at his sister in bewilderment. 

“No, it doesn’t sound right at all,” Ginny fumed. “Girls have feelings too, Ron. We’re not just toys for your amusement!”

Ron stared at Ginny for a moment, then a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head, as if he had just figured out what Ginny was on about. His ears turned scarlet.

“I can’t take you! You’re my sister!” Ron yelped, horrified. 

Ginny gaped at him, stunned into silence. Then she giggled hysterically.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes, Ron! You really think I’m cross because I want you to take me to the Ball?”

“Yeah! I do!” said Ron heatedly, looking a bit frightened too. “It’s bloody obvious that you can’t get a date, and you reckoned that seeing as I can’t get one either that we might as well go together. Go on! Tell me I’m wrong!”

“For your information, I _do_ have a date, Ron,” Ginny said coolly. “I’m going with Neville. The only reason we hadn’t told you yet was because we didn’t know how you’d react.”

Ron’s eyes boggled, and he shot a surprised look at Neville.

“I’m sorry Ron,” Neville moaned, shrinking in his seat. “I should have told you. Ginny and I didn’t really decide until yesterday though.”

Ron simply looked confused for a moment, then he slumped miserably in his chair. 

“No Neville! _I’m_ sorry! ... I’m so pathetic,” he groaned. “At this rate, I’m probably going to be the only one left without a date. And... er, sorry Ginny... about, er... thinking you actually wanted me to take you. I _am_ an idiot!”

Ginny eyed Ron sympathetically, seeing him looking more receptive to new information finally.

“It’s alright, Ron - I forgive you. Anyway, I was going to tell you, before you started going on about Trolls, that I found a date for you.”

“You... you did?” There was a brief flicker of worry in Ron’s eye, and Harry could tell that he was afraid that Ginny had set him up with someone less than attractive.

“Yes, I did! And you’re going with her, and you _**will**_ be nice to her!” Ginny said bossily.

“Er... Wh..who is it then?”

“My friend, Luna Lovegood.”

“Oh! You mean the loo...?”

“Don’t you dare finish that question,” said Ginny, her eyes flashing dangerously. 

Ron gulped. “I... I’ll be nice to her, I promise.”

“Good! I’ll hold you to that.” Then Ginny abruptly picked up her book and began reading again, indicating that as far as she was concerned, the matter was settled.

**~o0o~**

It was Friday, and she still didn’t have a date. Shivering, unused to such cold, Fleur Delacour irritably roamed the stone corridors of Hogwarts, haughtily waving off suitors in droves. Sometimes she thought being part Veela was more trouble than it was worth. How was she to know whether a boy really liked her, when all they could see was what was on the outside?

Fleur had hoped it might be better at Hogwarts, with more boys to choose from, but it was just the same as at Beauxbatons. The boys, nearly to the last one, were uninterested in who she was as a person and oblivious to anything she said, with eyes only for whichever part of her figure caught their fancy. 

The only ones who seemed to be able to resist her Veela charms were those who were already taken. It was so unfair! Just based on her observations from a distance, that Cedric Diggory boy seemed nice. Fleur had even put on her most alluring poses on purpose, hoping to either entice him, or to test his strength of character before presenting a verbal invitation - only to discover he had already been taken by Cho Chang.

At this point, Fleur would have even settled for Harry Potter, young and inexperienced though he was. From everything she had learned of him, since that first night, she had misjudged him more than a bit harshly. Harry Potter seemed quite pleasant and well mannered - especially compared to most others. Finally taking the time to speak with Harry Potter the other day, after watching him fly with Viktor Krum, had only further cemented her opinion.

But now he too was taken - which was a shame. That he seemed to truly appreciate Hermione Granger, despite her lack of interest in keeping up her appearance, bespoke well of him. Fleur rather thought Granger was very lucky to have him as a boyfriend. Though Fleur had to concede, underneath that bushy hair and those baggy clothes, there was a diamond in the rough. A little polish, and Fleur herself might be tempted by such a girl. 

If she weren’t so concerned about the warnings she had received regarding British customs, Fleur might have considered asking some of the girls for a date. But she was far too anxious about the possible repercussions should any take offence. That Skeeter person seemed all too keen to uncover some sort of scandal at Hogwarts, and Madame Maxime was counting on Fleur to represent Beauxbatons well, without creating some sort of tawdry media frenzy. 

Fleur had few options left; time was running short. She would simply have to choose from among the least objectionable boys and be done with it.

**~o0o~**

Finally it was over. When the last class on Friday ended, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, it had gone rather well. He had managed to get through the Potions exam without being too rattled by Snape’s digs at the beginning of class.

“I hope you weren’t expecting your transparent ploy to curry favour with the Durmstrang Champion to carry any weight with me, Potter,” Snape had sneered when he passed Harry his test paper. “Dumbledore may believe you are living up to the ideals of international cooperation which best represent the spirit of the tournament, but I can see right through your little charade. 

“Bolstering your international celebrity status by rubbing elbows with those far more talented than yourself may have convinced others, but to me you are still nothing more than an arrogant little boy of mediocre intellect who thinks far too highly of himself. 

“If you weren’t a Champion, I would make your participation in the Yule Ball contingent on passing this exam, Potter. And if you do manage to pass this test with more than an Acceptable percentage, I will be very surprised indeed.”

“You will be,” Harry had muttered to himself through gritted teeth as Snape stalked back to his desk. 

Hermione had given Harry a sympathetic look and hissed, “ _Ignore_ him,” under her breath. Harry had taken several deep breaths and closed his eyes, imagining snogging Hermione before starting his test. Feeling more relaxed, Harry had ploughed through the exam, then handed in the completed test with confidence at the end of class.

Snape had peered down his nose at the parchment as if it were something slimy and snatched it from Harry’s hand, replacing it with another parchment from his desk. Harry peered at it, feeling slightly perplexed. 

“Your holiday homework,” said Snape, a nasty little smirk hovering about his lips.

Now the Christmas Holidays were afoot, and with it came a whole load of homework for the Fourth Years from all the teachers, including McGonagall. That was to be expected, but there seemed to be an inordinate amount of Potions essays, and Harry was almost certain Snape was deliberately targeting him. 

“Bloody Hell!” said Ron, still grumbling by the time they reached the Entrance Hall as he continued to peruse the mile long list of various potions ingredients for each of which Snape expected a foot of parchment. 

“This’ll take us till Easter to finish - never mind Christmas,” Neville groaned. Even Hermione was shocked by the excessive amount of homework.

“This does seem a bit overboard...” she muttered, frowning at Snape’s list. 

Then Malfoy’s voice rang out nearby, as he loudly addressed Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt for the benefit of the Gryffindors. 

“Ah, no Potions homework!” Malfoy gloated “I feel as free as a lark! ... Can you imagine, _**some**_ teachers are actually handing out homework over the Holidays. But not Professor Snape! At least _**he**_ understands how important it is for _**us**_ to spend as much time as possible fraternising with our foreign guests, making them feel welcome.”

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, and Malfoy caught Harry’s eye with a look of malicious glee. Harry crumpled the list of expected essays which Snape had given him in his fist and ground his teeth.

“Ooooh! ... He is just too much!” Hermione fumed, suddenly catching on. “I _**bet**_ he had his father put Snape up to this. You go on to the common room with the others, Harry, I’ll be there in just a minute...”

“Wait, what? Hermione...?” Harry looked puzzled as Hermione darted off through the crowd of students, headed for who knew where.

“Trouble in Paradise, Potter?” Draco chortled.

Harry snorted. “For _you_ maybe! You think I didn’t notice that Parkinson’s been avoiding you and giving you dirty looks lately? What’d you do? ...invite Greengrass to the Ball instead?”

“For your information Potter, Parkinson and I have an understanding,” Malfoy drawled. “In fact, I expect that I’ll be going with the French Champion.”

Ron sniggered. “Yeah, right! Good luck with that, Malfoy.”

“Does Fleur know that?” asked Harry, his features brightening. “There she is right now... let’s ask her! Hey Fleur...”

“Nice try Potter! You can’t fool me,” Malfoy sneered.

“Oh, ‘Arry, ‘ello! Ees nice to see you again.”

Gaping in surprise at the sound of Delacour’s voice, and shocked that Potter was on a first name basis with the French Champion too, Malfoy spun around. 

“Malfoy was just telling me he wanted to ask you something, Fleur,” said Harry, his face a picture of innocence. “Isn’t that right, Malfoy?”

“Er... What? ... Oh, yeah... er,” Malfoy sputtered, looking utterly discombobulated. 

“Oh?” Fleur looked Malfoy up and down, bearing an expression which made her look as if she were trying very hard not to sneeze.

Malfoy glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, who were gawking at him and waiting expectantly for him to make his move. He inwardly groaned and cursed Potter for putting him in this position. Swallowing nervously, Malfoy attempted his winningest smile at Delacour, who was patiently awaiting his invitation, and bowed slightly.

“I...er... I would be ever so honoured, to extend my hand to Mademoiselle Delacour, in the hopes that you would grace me with your company at the Yule Ball.” Draco inwardly cringed, hearing his quavering voice end on a slightly high pitch. 

Despite her best effort, Fleur couldn’t help the crinkling of her nose. Her heightened Veela senses set off alarm bells in her brain. This boy, Malfoy, he most certainly was _not_ nice. Malfoy - the name was somehow familiar to her, then she recalled from her father’s dealings across the channel, the warnings of his business acquaintances. 

“Non! I theenk not,” she said loftily. “Please, do not bozzer me again!” she added for good measure, with a wave of her hand as if to shoo Malfoy away. 

If looks could kill, Harry reckoned he’d be dead from the look Malfoy was giving him right now. Harry grinned as Malfoy whirled around and quickly stalked off, his hulkish minions scurrying behind him. Ron and Neville stuffed their fists in their mouths, muffling their roars of laughter. 

“Surely, zis Malfoy ees no friend of yours, ‘Arry?” Fleur inquired once the Slytherins were out of sight.

“No, he’s not,” Harry agreed, looking more serious now. He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to tell Fleur why though. Fleur seemed to catch his hesitation, and what she said next caught Harry by surprise.

“I thought not,” she said. “Would be very strange for family who support Dark Lord to be your friend.”

“Yeah... it would,” said Harry. “You know about the Malfoys then?”

“I know leetle from Papa. And I know leetle of your history, ‘Arry. I put togezzer, and I understand zat Malfoy family ees very bad family - Blood-Purists. We have zem in France too - I do not like! ... Zis Malfoy boy, he harasses you and ‘Ermione, non?” 

“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” Harry sighed. “Anyway, sorry you got caught in the middle of that...”

“No apology nécessaire, ‘Arry,” Fleur beamed radiantly. “Malfoy, ‘e would ask me to Ball anyway. To shame one such as him een your presence gives me great pleasure. Ees too bad zat ‘Ermione ees not here to see also. Per’aps I see you both at dinner, tonight.”

“Er... yeah. See you later then.” 

Feeling a bit bemused, Harry watched for a moment as Fleur exited the castle, then turned to see Ron and Neville - and a few other guys nearby - in a near catatonic state, open-mouthed and drooling. Harry suddenly understood; when Fleur had smiled, her Veela allure must have been turned on full blast. He wondered why it didn’t affect him now - like it had at the World Cup - then he reckoned it must have something to do with how he felt about Hermione.

**~o0o~**

When Hermione arrived, she winced as her eardrums were assaulted by the gales of laughter echoing in the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Neville were guffawing loudly and Fred and George were rolling on the floor holding their sides and howling. Ginny, Lavender and Parvati were falling all over each other, giggling hysterically, tears streaming down their cheeks.

A number of other Gryffindors were in the common room too, and they were all laughing uproariously as well. Harry was just grinning and watching.

“What’s going on?” Hermione shouted to be heard.

“Malfoy just asked Fleur to the Yule Ball,” Harry yelled back. “She turned him down flat.”

“Oh?” Hermione gave Harry a why-was-that-so-funny? sort of look.

“You kind of had to be there,” shouted Harry, looking apologetic. “Ron tells it best - but he’s too busy laughing his arse off at the moment. If you wait long enough though, I know he’ll tell it again.”

Hermione nodded, grinning; the mood was infectious, and she was quite familiar with Ron’s penchant for repeating a good tale and his talent for silliness. Sure enough, as soon as the laughter began dying down, and Seamus and Dean arrived from wherever they’d been, Ron began telling it again, embellishing little details.

“...You should’ve seen his face when Harry said ‘There’s Fleur right now... let’s ask her!’...” Ron did an impression of Malfoy spinning around with a gormless look on his face, and mimicked Malfoy’s sputtering when Harry went on to tell Fleur that Malfoy wanted to ask her something. Soon the entire common room was laughing again, Hermione wheezing along with them, clutching at stitches in her side.

By the time things eventually calmed down, Harry was dying to ask Hermione where she had gone. 

“You’ll see soon enough,” was her mysterious answer, before popping up to the girls’ dorm with Lavender and Parvati. 

Harry was a bit puzzled, having thought that Hermione would want to get started on the piles of homework Snape had set for the Christmas Holidays. But he couldn’t concentrate anyway now, so he had a game of Wizard Chess with Ron, which ended with a Bishop and a Knight violently brutalising his King.

“Better luck next time, Harry,” Ron chuckled. 

Finally it was time to get ready for dinner, and the fourth year boys headed to their dorm to change. Seamus and Dean looked fairly pleased with themselves as they were putting on their robes. 

“So,” said Harry, a knowing expression on his face, “who are you two going to the Ball with then?”

“Well, I was going to ask Lavender,” said Seamus with a sigh, “but that obviously ain’t happening now tha’ she’s goin’ with Krum. An’ I couldn’t get up the nerve t’ask anyone else, but Dean came through...”

“Oh! You and Dean? I had no idea...” said Harry, surprised, given all the _Naughty Witches_ magazines he knew Seamus kept stashed under his mattress. Ron sniggered, then shut up when Harry gave him a there’s-nothing-wrong-that-sort-of-thing look.

“Nah,” Dean laughed amiably. “I asked Parvati to the Ball after Susan Bones said she was going with someone else, and she said she’d hook up Seamus with her sister, Padma.”

Once ready, Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindors down the marble stairs to the Great Hall for the first dinner of the Christmas Holidays, arm in arm with Hermione, who was still keeping mum about whatever she had been doing while Draco Malfoy had been getting shot down by Fleur. 

“Come on, Please? Why won’t you tell me?” he begged, giving her his best puppy eyes.

“Just hold your horses, Harry. It won’t be long now,” said Hermione, with an almost smug expression.

Bursting with anticipation, Harry took his seat next to Hermione. The first big surprise of the evening was when Fleur sat down at the Gryffindor table, right next to Hermione, much to the chagrin of many of Fleur’s fellow Beauxbatons (who were all sitting at the Ravenclaw table, as they nearly always did). The Great Hall buzzed with intrigue, as everyone stared and whispered. 

Harry chortled; he felt like Christmas had come early, catching the look of rage on Draco Malfoy’s face. Harry almost wondered if this was the surprise that Hermione had somehow orchestrated, but he immediately chucked out that idea as soon as it crossed his mind, as Hermione had been elsewhere during Draco’s disgrace. Fleur was clearly intending to make a bold statement all of her own accord. 

The murmur in the Hall quieted when Dumbledore stood up and took to the fore of the staff table, clearly to make some sort of speech. Harry peered at Dumbledore expectantly as the headmaster cleared his throat. Dumbledore’s crystal blue gaze cast out across the Hall, briefly noting Fleur’s change in seating arrangements with apparent approval; he caught Harry’s eye and winked.

“Greetings to students, colleagues, and our esteemed guests from the Continent,” Dumbledore began warmly, his rich, sonorous tones carrying throughout the Hall, “I know how important this time of year is for many - a time to reconnect with family, and with friends - a time for good cheer and celebration - a time to cast aside old prejudices and to forge new bonds of friendship and solidarity. 

“And it is in this spirit I am greatly pleased to see our Champions spreading their wings and coming together, in a display of fealty which truly embodies the greatest ideals of the Triwizard Tournament. Words alone cannot express how much it warms my heart to see Hogwarts students welcoming our friends from the Continent with open arms.

“Therefore, in order to give you all more time to get to know one another this joyous Holiday Season, I am pleased to announce that all homework assignments handed out have been canceled. 

“There is more than enough time during the schoolyear proper for hard work, when hard work is to be expected. This is to be a time of relaxation and merriment - let your hair down and fill your hearts with joy! 

“... not to mention filling your bellies with the sumptuous feast,” Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eye before taking his seat.

The Great Hall burst into thunderous applause and whoops of delight, but nobody was cheering louder than those at the Gryffindor table. Harry’s face almost hurt from grinning so much when he spotted Snape’s livid features, which were turning a hue of purple that nearly put Uncle Vernon’s to shame. Draco looked like he might burst into flame and explode.

“This is all you, isn’t it?” Harry said to Hermione, his face a mixture of awe and exultation. “You made this happen! This is the best early Christmas Present ever - well... _**second**_ best early Christmas Present, after you being my girlfriend that is.” 

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Hermione beamed, giving him a bone-crushing hug and a lingering kiss on the cheek.


	6. Countdown to Christmas

Upon returning to his seat at the staff table, Dumbledore couldn’t help but notice the Potion Master’s venomous glares at young Harry Potter; he sighed and glanced at the Deputy Headmistress to his left. Her own expression was taut, her lips pursed and brow creased with irritation. Her annoyance however, was not directed at Harry Potter - it was directed at the headmaster himself, and no small measure of her anger was directed at Severus as well.

As the feast appeared on the gold and silver platters adorning the table, and Dumbledore carved a slice of roast chicken for himself, he pondered his decision. Minerva would have no doubt preferred that her fourth year Gryffindors’ Potions homework had simply been cut down to a far more manageable size, and that the fourth year Slytherins had been given holiday homework as well.

That would have certainly been an equitable arrangement, but it had occurred to Dumbledore after listening to Miss Granger repeat Draco Malfoy’s taunts at Minerva’s prodding, that this holiday season was uniquely special, warranting the canceling of all homework assignments. Hosting guests for the Triwizard Tournament didn’t happen every year after all. 

It had pleased the headmaster to no end to bear witness from his tower to Harry Potter’s burgeoning friendship with Viktor Krum as the pair flew around the Quidditch Pitch together nearly a week ago. Just as it pleased him to see the Delacour girl forging bonds of friendship with Granger and Harry. It was a hopeful sign in these troubling times. 

Harry’s vision during the summer of Voldemort’s return to Britain with Pettigrew boded ill for the future. There could be no doubt that the self-appointed “Dark Lord” was seeking another means to regain a human form, and would yet again attempt to kill the boy who had defeated him three times already, all in his bid to restore a Pureblood Supremacist Order to wizarding Britain, under his iron rule.

If Harry’s strength of character and inestimably kind nature proved anything, it was that the Prophecy - dubious though the business of Prophecies may be - held great truth to it: Harry had the power within himself to defeat Voldemort - a power which was beyond Voldemort’s ken. The only real quandary was what to do about the connection between Harry and Voldemort - a connection which had disturbing implications.

It was bad enough that Dumbledore had yet to devise a means of breaking that connection, thus freeing Harry to flourish and allow his prodigious abilities - as embodied by the boy’s remarkable Patronus - to grow to their fullest potential, but now Dumbledore had to contend with questioning the trust he had placed in Severus as well. 

Which was stronger, Severus’s commitment to protecting the life of the child of the only woman Severus had ever cared for, or his hate for the man whom that woman had married and the boy she had borne? Trust did not come easy to Dumbledore, but he had trusted Severus’s desire for vengeance against the ‘Dark Lord’ in her name. 

And that trust was becoming increasingly shaken with every act of cruelty waged against Harry and Harry’s friends. 

His eyes once again flickering towards his deputy headmistress, who was now digging into a lamb chop and potatoes, Dumbledore considered seeking her counsel and entrusting her with his darkest secrets. There was no question she had earned that trust in spades.

When Minerva had burst into the headmaster’s office with Hermione Granger in tow, her fury at Severus’s blatant disregard for protocol and his utter lack of any commitment to fairness - was only matched by her enormous concern for Harry’s safety and well-being. Dumbledore had been forced to concede that Severus had overstepped his boundaries yet again when it came to Harry Potter.

Following his impromptu meeting with Minerva and Miss Granger, Dumbledore had summoned Severus to his office, and the outcome of _that_ conversation had left him unsettled. Severus had not taken his dressing down well.

“You disappoint me, Severus,” the headmaster had sighed, “...yet again. After last year, I had hoped for better...”

“Better?” The contempt in Severus’s tone was poorly hidden, “After Potter and his little friends set Black free? ... Did you really think...?” 

“I would have hoped, that my word would be enough Severus,” Dumbledore interjected. “As I explained at the time, Sirius Black was innocent - Pettigrew was the traitor...”

“Based entirely on the word of three insolent children and Black’s partner in crime, Lupin,” Severus snarled.

“Three children whose moral integrity is unassailable,” Dumbledore countered. “As is Remus Lupin’s.”

“Integrity? Don’t make me laugh. Potter and his friends are liars and thieves. Troublemakers all - just like James Potter and his little gang! They think themselves above the rules... Potter, Weasley, and Granger attacked me...”

“Do you really want to go there?” said Dumbledore coldly. “You were hardly an innocent yourself, Severus, in your days as student. How long did you stalk Remus, hoping to expose his secret, knowing I would have no choice but to expel him if you did? How many times did you attempt to get past the Whomping Willow of your own accord before Black revealed the secret of gaining entrance to you? 

“...Which he did out of sheer frustration with your attempts to expose Remus’s condition to the world I would hasten to add. ... And shall I also bring up the many complaints raised by others against you and _your_ compatriots, Severus? 

“Assaulting and verbally abusing muggleborns was quite the pastime for you and your friends, was it not? ... Practice, I would wager, for your post-Hogwarts career as a Death Eater. Do not think to convince me that you hold any moral high ground, in casting aspersions against James Potter, Black, and Lupin. You do not...”

“I switched sides...” Severus growled. “I have helped you protect the Potters’ son ever since...”

“For which I am most grateful,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “But that was only after several years of aiding and abetting the mass-murder and torture of innocents. And I have oft considered the question of whether you would have switched sides, had Lily Potter never been targeted by Voldemort...”

Dumbledore paused, raising his bushy white eyebrows and noting that Severus remained silent on that score. 

“In any case,” the headmaster went on, his unease growing, “as I was saying, I am very grateful for the fact that you have kept to the Letter of your promise in helping me protect Harry. However I am very disappointed that you have not kept to the _Spirit_ of your promise. ... The lens through which you see Harry is grotesquely distorted, but that is your business - I can do little about that. Harry’s health and well-being however, is _both_ of our business’s. How many times must I step in when you treat him unfairly, Severus...?”

“You know why I must,” Severus interjected heatedly, his sallow cheeks flushing. “Am I not your spy? Lucius Malfoy has certain expectations...”

But Dumbledore was having none of it, and interrupted Severus in turn. “What Lucius Malfoy expects is for you to favour his son - to look the other way and disregard young Draco’s insubordination and infractions - to mark up Draco’s scores when they slide down - and to grant Draco privileges for which he is quite undeserving. These I allow, no matter how painful it is for me to do so, in order for you to maintain your status as Lucius Malfoy’s friend and confidante.

“However, do you really expect me to believe that your constant attempts to harass Harry, and your attempts to fail him, or contrive reasons for his expulsion, are part of the facade you maintain to placate Lucius Malfoy? ... Of course not! 

“This is just another excuse to cover for your hate of James Potter, which you have already openly admitted to projecting upon his son. Lucius must surely know that reprisals against Potter for slights against Draco - whether imagined or _deservedly_ real - are off the table as long as I am headmaster. 

“Yet still you carry out Lucius’s hopeful requests to retaliate against Harry on Draco’s behalf without hesitation - not for him, but for yourself. You are so used to seeking reprisal against Harry for what you believe are sins bequeathed by his father, that you have no compunction against doing the same at the behest of Lucius and Draco.

“That ends today Severus! No longer will you unfairly mark down Harry’s exam scores, as you attempted to do at the end of last year before I stepped in and reversed them. And no longer will you differentiate between Slytherin and Gryffindor in terms of how much homework you dole out, as you did today. 

“From now on, if you believe that any particular individual student requires extra work to maintain a reasonable standard in your class - especially if it is Harry Potter or one of his friends - you will confer with me first. I will also henceforth be monitoring the points deductions and detentions you hand out, just to be certain you are not abusing your power in that regard as well. Is this understood?”

Severus had glowered mutinously, his dark eyes glittering, then he slowly nodded.

“Yes Headmaster, of course!” he said, as evenly as possible, looking sulky. “I will do as you ask.”

Dumbledore had eyed his Potions Professor keenly, then nodded in return.

“Very good Severus! I will, of course, be making adjustments regarding the holiday homework you handed out to some, but not others. And if Lucius questions you on this matter, or tasks you with future reprisals against Harry, you will inform him that I simply won’t allow it, as you should have done before. ... Lucius will understand. Favouring Harry Potter is what he expects of me after all!”

Severus had sat there a moment before taking Dumbledore’s pointed expression as a dismissal. It was clear that his orders to treat Harry Potter with a modicum of respect had been taken under duress, and Dumbledore wondered for how long he could hope to trust Severus’s feelings of guilt over the death of Lily Potter, and his antipathy towards Voldemort, to win out. Could he truly be trusted to be spy once again, should the “Dark Lord” reconstitute himself, or was it too dangerous?

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore surreptitiously regarded his Deputy Headmistress now, as they ate dinner; he had no such concerns about her. Minerva’s devotion to the safety of Harry Potter - indeed to the safety of all students, regardless of House - was surely more trustworthy than a desire for redemption and vengeance. Minerva could not be a spy of course, but perhaps it was time that she learned of Severus’s role in things - and perhaps be informed of Dumbledore’s other quandaries as well...

**~o0o~**

There was another popping sound in the Gryffindor common room, accompanied by chortles of laughter. Harry, who had been enjoying a game of wizard chess with Ron, grinned to see that another had fallen victim to one of Fred and George’s Canary Creams, no doubt hidden in the centre of a mince pie.

“Not again,” moaned Neville, who was now covered in yellow feathers. 

“Ah, don’ worry about it, mate,” laughed his fellow feathered friend, Seamus, who had also eaten a mince pie. “It’s all in good fun, eh? ...an’ they’ll be gone soon enough.” 

“That’s true,” Neville sighed. Then he let out a little chuckle and flapped his “wings.” 

Hermione shook her head and gave him a little half-smile, having resigned herself to the situation. Nobody seemed to be coming to any harm from bursting into feather. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall. 

“Harry, it’s almost time...”

“Oh, yeah, it is,” said Harry, “I’m going for a fly with Viktor, Ron - no Snitch this time. You coming? You can borrow a school broom and join us...” 

“Yeah, sure,” Ron quickly agreed, his face lighting up. 

The Christmas Holidays were in full swing now, everyone taking full advantage of Dumbledore’s proclamation of no holiday homework this year. The castle and its surrounds were filled with a frenzy of Festive activity while delicious smells wafted from the kitchens, and the professors had gone all out with the decorations. Peeves hid in suits of armour bedecked with red Father Christmas caps, belting out Christmas tunes with salty improvised lyrics at the top of his lungs.

Parties were held in common rooms, and wintry activities were held on the grounds. A number of students had taken up ice-skating on the parts of the lake with the thickest layers of ice close to the shore; snowball wars became increasingly hazardous as wands propelled the snowballs in ever greater volume and velocity. The snowmen, snow-forts, and ice-sculptures adorning the lawns grew more intricate daily. 

And Fleur and Viktor weren’t the only ones to have started hanging out with Harry and Hermione and their friends. Cedric and Cho Chang had also joined in more than once. The only ones who seemed to be having less than a good time were a number of Slytherins, several in particular.

Infuriated to learn that Daphne Greengrass had accepted Zabini’s invitation to the Yule Ball, Draco had finally approached Pansy, despite the fact that she had refused to have her pug nose reshaped for him by a Healer her father knew.

“You must be joking!” snapped Pansy. “I’d rather go with Weasley - well, probably _not_ Weasley, but Potter maybe. At least Potter knows how to treat a girl. He’s not obsessed with perfect looks, unlike you!”

“ _Potter?”_ snarled Draco, “You’d rather go with a blood-traitor than me, would you? Too bad for you he’s already got a Mudblood to take to the Ball. You’ll look pretty stupid at the Ball without a date...”

“For your information, I _have_ a date!” Pansy hissed angrily. “I didn’t bother waiting around to see if you’d relent and choose me as a last resort! ... So we’ll see who shows up without one, won’t we?” she added with one final glare before turning on her heel and storming off to her dormitory.

“ _I’ll_ go to the Ball with you Draco,” said Millicent Bulstrode, leering at him hopefully. Draco gave her a glance, looking a bit green around the gills; then he marched off to the boys’ dormitory, cursing under his breath.

“Oi, I thought you were going with me,” said Goyle, frowning. 

“Well, a girl can try and trade up, can’t she?” Millicent sniggered. 

“S’pose so,” Goyle grunted, shrugging, knowing he was in no position to complain.

**~o0o~**

During the run up to Christmas Eve, Harry and Hermione slipped away from the others whenever they could for a bit of last minute dance practice. Upon returning to Gryffindor Tower after their sessions, which often ended with a bit of snogging, Harry found himself wishing more and more for a bit of privacy at nights to relieve the stirrings of his growing ardour; cold showers just weren’t cutting it.

Even with the curtains pulled around his bed, Harry was reluctant to give in to his need, afraid that he would be heard. Given Seamus’s hidden supply of magazines, Harry didn’t doubt that of all his dormmates, Seamus at least was taking care of his urges under cover of night. But Harry wasn’t Seamus, and he vowed to himself to look up privacy and silencing charms at his next opportunity.

It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve, and just as he was considering seeing if the library was open while Hermione was busy doing something with Lavender and Parvati, there was a tap on the frosted over window of the fourth year boys’ dormitory. Harry opened the window, letting in a blast of cold air and a flurry of snow, pleased to see that Hedwig had made it back in the nick of time. 

“Sorry Hedwig,” said Harry, as he untied the small parcel from his exhausted owl’s talons. “I know it’s been a bit of a rush for you - between delivering that letter for the Twins and picking this up for me. I’ll make it up to you - I promise.”

Harry found some owl treats for Hedwig and poured some water from the jug beside his bed into a glass for her. 

“Merry Christmas Hedwig,” he said gratefully, stroking her feathers while she thirstily guzzled the water and nibbled the owl treats. “I hope she doesn’t think that I’ve gone mad,” Harry added, sounding a bit worried. “You do think she’ll like it, don't you?” 

Hedwig lifted her beak and uttered a little hoot to reassure him. Then Harry carefully stashed the little package in the drawer of his nightstand with the Christmas Card for Hermione when Hedwig darted back out the window and flew off to the owlery for a good, long nap.

Satisfied that he was as ready as could be now for Christmas, Harry shut the window and put his charms books back in his trunk. Then he went back downstairs, wove through the crowded common room, past Seamus and Dean and Ron and Neville (who were all playing a game of four-way wizard checkers), slipped out through the portrait hole, and made his way to the library to look through the Advanced Charms books for a solution to his privacy problem.

**~o0o~**

Harry awoke with a start, his heart pounding. It was nearly pitch black, then he remembered his curtains were closed, and thanked his lucky stars that the silencing charm that he had found had worked perfectly last night. It felt really early though; something had woken him, but he wasn’t sure what.

He turned over in bed to reach through the curtains for his clock to see what time it was, and stared into two slightly luminescent, green tennis-ball sized orbs peering right back at him. 

“Dobby!” Harry gasped, jerking back and nearly falling out of his bed. “Blimey! Don’t _do_ that! You scared me half to death!”

“Dobby is very sorry Harry Potter, sir,” the anxious house-elf squeaked. “Dobby is taking Harry Potter’s extra present and his card for Missy Granger to put in her stocking, and then Dobby is coming back and bringing Harry Potter a present and wishing him a Merry Christmas sir!”

“How did you know I got Hermione an extra present?” Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Tis part of a house-elf’s magic,” said Dobby. “We is taking presents from givers and putting them in stockings and pillowcases of receivers during the night, and we is always knowing when there is last minute and extra presents.”

“Oh! Of course!” said Harry, feeling a bit silly. “You know, I never really thought about how the presents always ended up in our pillowcases and stockings. Anyway, I got you a present too, Dobby, it’s not much...”

Harry pulled back his curtain and retrieved the parcel he had been keeping in the drawer of his nightstand, and handed it to the stunned house-elf. 

“Harry Potter is getting a present for _Dobby?”_

“Er... yeah,” said Harry as Dobby gleefully ripped into the wrapping, revealing a pair of purple and gold socks. “I got it during my Hogsmeade visit. I hope you like them.” 

“Dobby loves them!” Dobby squealed. “Socks is Dobby’s most favourite clothes sir! How did Harry Potter know?”

“Er... lucky guess,” Harry grinned, pleased at his success. Then he reckoned he ought to open Dobby’s present for him. Harry chortled when a pair of woolen socks, one green with silver broomsticks, and the other red with gold snitches, fell out of the wrapping and rolled onto the bed.

“Wh...what’s going on?” grumbled a groggy voice the next bed over. “It’s not even light yet.”

“Just Dobby,” Harry told Ron. “He was bringing me a Christmas Present. It’s not even six yet though. You can go back to sleep.”

Reminded that it was Christmas Day, Ron bolted right up, wide awake and grinning. Christmas was the one day a year that Ron actually liked waking up early.

“Go back to sleep? No way! It’s Christmas,” said Ron excitedly. “Merry Christmas Dobby!”

“Thank you sir!” Dobby squeaked happily. “Merry Christmas to you too. Dobby would stay, but there is much work to be doing in kitchens, and Dobby still has a few more presents to deliver before other students is waking.” And on that note, Dobby vanished with a little pop...

**~o0o~**

Hermione stirred, yawning, when Crookshanks purred and butted his furry head under her chin. She blinked blearily, and saw that it was just after six thirty am. It wouldn’t even be light yet for at least two hours. But if she knew Ron and Harry, they would probably be up soon if they weren’t already. It was Christmas Day after all.

“Morning Crookshanks! Merry Christmas!” Hermione whispered, giving her cat a pet and a kiss on the head.

“That you Hermione?” murmured Lavender. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” Hermione was surprised; she wasn’t used to Lavender waking up this early on a Sunday.

“I’ve been awake for half an hour,” Lavender said quietly, her voice tinged with excitement. “I _love_ Christmas, but I didn’t want to wake anyone else... Parvati usually sleeps in till at least seven.”

“Who can sleep with all this whispering?” grumbled Parvati, throwing a pillow at Lavender. “Sounds like leaky balloon in here. Might as well wake up now and open our presents.”

Lavender giggled, then the other girls began stirring as well. Hermione crawled to the end of the bed in her nightie and grabbed her pillowcase, tipping it on her cover. There were numerous presents from her parents, including books and the usual assortment of sugar-free sweets. Those were made up for a bit by an assortment of sugar-loaded wizarding sweets sent by Hagrid, including Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Ice Mice, and Fizzing Whizbees.

There was also of course, the expected parcel from Mrs Weasley, including mince pies, nut brittle, and her traditional woolly jumper, green with a picture of a dragon on it this year. Hermione suddenly realised that Mrs Weasley must have taken Rita Skeeter’s assertion in the _Daily Prophet_ that she and Harry were a couple seriously, and expected that Harry’s jumper would be exactly the same. 

Hermione giggled at the idea that she and Harry would be _that_ couple - the one with matching sweaters - much like her mum and dad in fact. Thinking of Harry, his was the next present she found. From its size and weight she knew it was a heavy tome.

First removing the silver bow and ribbon, and carefully peeling the scarlet, emerald, and gold paper, Hermione gasped to find the incredibly expensive book she had been drooling over in Tomes and Scrolls inside; a three hundred and fifty year old copy of _Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies: The Illuminated Wizarding Edition._

“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, running her finger along the gold embossed lettering, and taking a deep whiff of the aged burnt sienna coloured leather binding, “you shouldn’t have.” 

Hermione opened the ancient book and turned the vellum pages, admiring the detailed moving illustration on the frontispiece from _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ She bit her lip and sighed, feeling guilty about Harry spending so much on her their first Christmas together. Wondering how well off Harry actually was, Hermione carefully placed the book on the nightstand next to her bed and opened Ron’s present, finding a box of Sugar Quills and a box of Licorice Wands. 

Hermione’s stocking contained more sugar-less goodies from her parents, and some of Hagrid’s rock cakes. She was surprised to find another present from Harry tucked at the bottom. It was small, wrapped in purple and gold paper. For some reason her hands trembled slightly as she began unwrapping it.

The dormitory seemed very quiet all of a sudden; the squeaks of delight from the other girls as they unwrapped their presents went silent. Hermione bit her lip again, frowning as she peered at the black velvet jewellery box in her shaking hand. 

“I can’t believe him,” Hermione muttered. “We’ve barely been together a month.”

“That’s from Harry?” asked Parvati. Hermione slowly nodded. 

“Then you’ve _really_ been together since First Year,” Parvati insisted, her limpid eyes widening earnestly. “It’s obvious he loves you to bits, even though it took him three and a half years to figure it out.”

Hermione’s features flickered pensively; Harry had said as much to her in his own way. And it was so like Harry to go all in, jumping in with both feet without looking once he’d made up his mind about something. 

“Well go on then, open it,” said Lavender eagerly. “What’s wrong Hermione?”

“It... it’s just... too much! He’s spent so much on me already,” Hermione moaned. “That book on my nightstand - a muggle edition of that particular book would go for millions of pounds at auction. I saw it in the bookstore in the village, so I know it wasn’t that much in wizard money, but it was still several hundred galleons... roughly as much as a mid-range quality broomstick.

“And... and now _this!_ ... Wh...what if it’s something else really expensive? I only got him a book about quidditch and some science fiction novels...”

“It’s not a competition Hermione,” Parvati pointed out.

Anguished, Hermione bit her lip. “That’s not really what I meant...”

“You _do_ deserve it Hermione,” said Lavender perceptively. “You’ve always been there for him. You do deserve to be treated like a princess if Harry can actually afford it.”

“That’s just it, I don’t really know how much his parents left him. Most of his clothes are just cast-offs from his cousin. He almost never spends any money on himself, except for his school supplies. What if he’s spent more than he can really afford?” 

“That’s for Harry to decide, isn’t it?” said Parvati.

“I... I suppose...” Hermione said hesitantly; she knew she was running out of excuses. Her final reticent thought was that she wasn’t sure that she was ready for anything that a ring might represent, but from the shape of the jewellery box, Hermione knew it wasn’t really a ring.

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione decided to simply roll with it, whatever it was. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Harry by not accepting his presents. Her fingers trembled as they undid the clasp and opened the black velvet box. She gasped at the exquisite contents - a matching set of shimmering pearl earrings and necklace. Hermione smiled through the tears suddenly blurring her vision, clasping a hand to her mouth. 

“They’re gorgeous!” Lavender squealed, jumping up and down as the other girls in the dorm oohed and aahed.

“They’ll go perfectly with your gown and dress robes,” Parvati beamed. “Now you won’t need to borrow anything.”


	7. The Yule Ball

Harry was the first to spot Hermione in the common room. She was hard to miss - she was wearing the exact same jumper as him, a woolly green sweater with a fairly good likeness of the Hungarian Horntail knitted into the pattern. Harry grinned, reckoning that Mrs Weasley had believed the _Daily Prophet’s_ article from a few months ago, even though he himself hadn’t recognised what must have been obvious to Rita Skeeter and many others at Hogwarts for ages.

“Merry Christmas Hermione,” Harry called out cheerily. 

Hermione turned around and beamed at him. Harry suddenly noticed that despite the smile on Hermione’s face, her eyes were puffy and red, as if she had been crying. He swallowed guiltily.

“Merry Christmas Harry,” Hermione squeaked, before flinging her arms around him and squeezing him tightly.

“Er... Are you alright Hermione?”

“Never better!” 

“Your... er... presents were alright then?” Harry asked nervously.

“They’re _lovely_ Harry!” Hermione assured him, still clinging tightly to him; though Harry noticed that her voice seemed a bit quavery, sounding as if she might cry again. “Thank you ever so much! Nobody’s ever given me anything quite as beautiful as that before.”

“You... you really mean that? It... it’s just I’d never seen you wearing jewellery before, so I wasn’t really sure... and the book, well, I knew you really wanted it, and I wanted you to have what you really wanted... But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea... I’m not expecting anything, or trying to pressure you - I just wanted you to have something special - make up for all the stupid presents I’ve ever given you...”

Hermione shut Harry’s anxious babbling up with a kiss, pressing her lips to his briefly, which was as long as she dared to in public. It seemed to be enough. The luminescence returned to Harry’s bright green eyes and his features began to relax. Hermione gave him a slightly bemused smile, feeling strangely fluttery inside to see him as nervous about giving her the presents as she had felt receiving them.

“The pearls are exquisite Harry, _really!_ ... You’re right, I’ve never really worn jewellery before, but only because nobody’s ever given me anything like that before - unless you count my baby ring. Mum and Dad aren’t really big jewellery wearers. And the Shakespeare - it really is amazing, like owning a museum piece.”

“I’m really glad you liked them,” said Harry, feeling more relieved. “I was worried it all might seem a bit too much, but I couldn’t resist getting the Shakespeare for you.”

“Mum named me after the Queen in _A Winter’s Tale_ ,” said Hermione. “Did you know that, then?” 

“Absolutely no idea,” Harry admitted with a grin. “The only Shakespeare I’ve read is _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ in primary school...”

“Oi, You two in the matching sweaters coming to breakfast or what?” Ron grumbled, standing near the portrait hole impatiently. “I’m famished.”

“Okay, we’re coming,” Harry retorted. “Keep your hair on.”

“Where’s your jumper Ron?” Hermione asked as they made their way to the Great Hall.

“I’m going to give it to Dobby later,” said Ron airily. “He popped in to wish Harry Merry Christmas, but he vanished before I thought of giving it to him. ... It was maroon again anyway...”

Breakfast at Christmas was usually a quiet affair, as most students usually went home for the holidays. But not this year, and the atmosphere in the Great Hall was boisterous and exuberant, pregnant with anticipation of the evening’s special event, the Yule Ball. Chatter and laughter filled the air. 

Indeed, a few chortles and sniggers were directed at Harry and Hermione for wearing matching sweaters, though surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) not coming from Fred and George, who were also wearing matching sweaters.

“You’d think she’d knit us totally different jumpers,” George said with a grin. “Or at least put our initials on them and jinx them so we couldn’t switch...”

“...considering she’s always complaining how she can’t tell us apart,” said Fred. “Personally, I think Mum doth protest too much. I think she secretly likes having a pair of Twins.”

“Well it’s not so secret if she’s knitting you matching jumpers, is it?” Ginny pointed out reasonably.

“Too true, little sis,” Fred amiably agreed. “Though I should think you and Ron are lucky that Mum isn’t knitting you two matching jumpers. People might start asking uncomfortable questions.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry chuckled; sniggers emanated from Seamus and Dean, and Neville looked a bit bewildered. Ginny snorted with amusement and flung a piece of jammy toast at Fred, but the rude insinuation seemed to fly right over Ron’s head.

“I just wish she’d quit knitting me Maroon sweaters,” moaned Ron. “I bloody hate Maroon!” 

The rest of the morning was spent in the common room, everyone admiring each others’ presents. Lavender excitedly showed off the silver and gold filigree necklace that Viktor Krum had given her.

“Viktor had it on the ship, and gave it to me during breakfast,” Lavender squealed when Harry asked. “That’s probably why the House Elves didn’t know about it to put it in my stocking.”

Harry was pleased to see that he’d been right about his present for Ron; it was indeed a rare book which captured Ron’s attention. Ron was sitting on the sofa by the fire, engrossed with _The Makings of a Champion: Winning Quidditch Techniques for All Ages._

Everyone returned to the Great Hall for lunch, which was a magnificent feast with hundreds of golden roast turkeys and all the trimmings, supplemented with sausage rolls, mince pies, and Christmas puddings. 

The afternoon was spent outside in the snow, which had fallen heavily again during the night. After flying around a bit with Viktor and Cedric, Harry built a snowman with Hermione, then had a snowball fight with the Weasleys, Neville, Seamus and Dean, and Ginny’s friend Luna. By five, dusk had already fallen, and Hermione departed with Lavender and Parvati and Ginny to get ready for the Ball.

Ron shook his head in amazement. “Three hours to get ready for the Ball? They’re mad! See Neville - what’d I tell you? ... Girls - completely barmy!”

After another hour and a half, it was too dark too aim, and Harry headed back to Gryffindor Tower with the others to begin getting ready for the Ball themselves. The Fat Lady and her friend looked like they were already smashed, drunk off the chocolate liqueurs they had been eating all afternoon, and it took the Fat Lady a while to remember the new password herself.

“I’m telling you, it’s Fairy Lights,” Harry yelled after the third attempt. “You changed it three days ago, remember? How did you forget already? You’ve been letting people in all day haven’t you?”

“Oh, right, Lairy Fights,” the Fat Lady tittered drunkenly. “I do remember now.”

Harry gave up trying to work his head around how it was possible for a portrait to get drunk after showering and changing into his dress robes. But as usual, Harry’s efforts with a wet comb were for naught. Intensely glowering at his hair in a mirror, Harry was shocked when it suddenly changed, shortening at the back and sides, laying down neatly on top, parting evenly, his fringe sweeping dashingly across his forehead from one side to cover his scar. 

“Hey, Ron, you’ll never believe what I just did without a wand,” he said excitedly as he shut the bathroom door behind him.

But Ron was too busy fiddling with his Maroon vintage robes and cursing at the lacy frills to pay attention.

“Bloody hell! I look all stupid and girly in these,” Ron muttered sourly. “Between this and being with Luna in her butterbeer cork necklace and radish earrings, I’ll look a right idiot.” 

Ron took out his wand and attempted to use a severing charm to cut off the frills, just making the robes look even worse, ragged and frayed edges of lace peeking from the folds of the lapels and cuffs. Harry finally took pity on him, even though he was in a bit of a rush himself now, as he had to meet Hermione with the other Champions and their dates to make a “Grand Entrance” together.

“Here Ron, let me,” he said kindly. Harry muttered, “Diffindo,” and carefully ran his wand along the edges until they were all smooth and completely lace free. Then, for good measure, Harry cast a Colour-Changing Charm, and Ron’s robes turned royal blue.

Ron’s jaw dropped. “Blimey! Thanks Harry! Hermione’s right - you really are brilliant at Charms.”

“I’ve just been focusing a bit more lately,” said Harry, flushing slightly. “Anyway, I gotta go Ron, Hermione’s probably already waiting with the others.”

“Yeah, alright Harry - see you a bit later then. Thanks again.”

**~o0o~**

Ron trailed behind Ginny and Neville as they in turn followed Dean and Parvati, and Seamus and Padma, down the marble stairs to the Great Hall. Ron looked around nervously, finally spotting Luna Lovegood when they reached the foot of the stairs. His eyes widened, pleasantly surprised to see that the distinctly dotty girl - whom he barely knew, beyond seeing her with Ginny on occasion - didn’t look half-bad.

Luna was wearing a pale yellow gown with gold sparkles under her open lemon chiffon yellow dress-robes. And instead of butterbeer corks, her necklace appeared to made of delicate little seashells, and her earrings were silver seahorses which actually looked quite pretty. Luna grinned at the expression on Ron’s face.

“Hello Ronald,” she said boldly. “You look quite nice. Royal blue suits you.”

“Oh, er... yeah! You too,” Ron said lamely, his ears turning pink, mentally kicking himself as soon as he’d said it.

“Come on, let’s get seats then.” Luna took Ron’s arm and he let her guide him to one of the oblong tables at the side of the Great Hall with Ginny and Neville and the others. 

Ron tried not to trip over his own feet as he glanced at the decorations, which had changed since lunch time. The Great Hall looked quite different without the long House Tables taking up most of the space. For the first time, Ron noticed that the floor was marble, unlike the stone of most of the floors in the castle.

The dozen Christmas Trees were gone; Poinsettias and Christmas Roses lined the sides of the room instead, broken at intervals by ornately carved ice-sculptures, and the walls were covered in frost. Glittering icicles and garlands of Holly, Mistletoe, and Ivy hung from the pillars and arches which reached across the vaulted ceiling, through which the clear starry night could be seen. The silvery glowing fairies which had been decorating the Christmas trees fluttered around the Hall. The overall effect was of a sparkling winter wonderland. 

“Look out for Nargles,” said Luna as they took their seats, bringing Ron back to Earth. 

“Nargles?” 

“They tend to infest Mistletoe. Though I expect the Fairies will keep them in line. That’s probably why the Professors let the Fairies stay.”

Ron gaped at Luna in frank disbelief, not sure what to say. Ginny giggled and shot Ron a warning look.

“Er... Okay,” Ron finally muttered. “Watch out for Nargles then. Got it!” He peered around nervously, looking for Harry and Hermione. Luna seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“They’re probably in the anteroom,” she said. “Oh look, here they come now.”

Ron’s head swiveled. Sure enough, a beam of golden light from nowhere flooded the doorway of the anteroom. The Champions and their dates followed McGonagall through the entry in pairs lined up behind her. First up behind McGonagall was Krum and Lavender, followed by Cedric and Cho Chang. 

Then came Fleur and her date, Roger Davies, captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, who appeared to be sneaking glances at her chest with a gormless expression on his face. Fleur looked slightly put out. Bringing up the rear was Harry, who looked more debonair than Ron had ever remembered him looking - almost as dashing as Cedric even. 

But Ron didn’t recognise the girl with Harry. Nor did Neville apparently; he and Ron exchanged puzzled looks.

“I thought Harry was coming with Hermione,” Ron murmured at Lavender and Parvati. “Where is she?”

All the girls giggled.

“That’s her with Harry, silly,” said Ginny, 

“That’s Hermione?” Neville was as stunned as Ron. He’d always fancied Hermione a bit, but that was mostly just because she was nice to him and helped him with his homework. He had never really noticed she was actually pretty before.

Ron and Neville both stared at Hermione, flabbergasted, not quite believing that she was the same bushy haired swotter who had kept them from failing utterly in Potions and Transfiguration.

**~o0o~**

Harry tried his hardest not to fidget as he entered the Great Hall under a quite literal spotlight. He grinned nervously at Hermione, concentrating hard on not stumbling, carefully placing one foot in front of another. Hermione blushed shyly as she smiled back, fluttering her eyelashes at him and biting her lip.

Harry knew Hermione was a knock-out - he had for a month now, ever since McGonagall had put her foot down and ordered him to go with Hermione to the Ball. But now everyone else could see how gorgeous she was too, looking more like a model than bookworm tonight.

Hermione’s dress robes were a pastel shade of periwinkle blue, made of some sort of floaty fabric. They were open at the front, trailing slightly behind her, and just the right hue to complement the mauve ballgown Hermione was wearing beneath. 

Parvati had helped Hermione do something with her hair; half straightening it, pulling it back one side while letting a cascade of delicate ringlets free the other side to tumble over her shoulder like a tawny-brown waterfall which seemed to shine golden when the light struck it.

Hermione had only the barest hint of makeup, just enough to highlight her natural features; Harry hadn’t even realised she was wearing any until Hermione had told him. 

The whole breathtaking effect was set off by the opalescent strand of pearls gracing Hermione’s neck, and the pearl earrings. Harry felt slightly intimidated - almost like he was walking into the Great Hall with a life-size Fairy Queen beside him. He was startled when she took his hand and squeezed it, whispering at him, sounding a bit breathless.

“You look _really_ handsome Harry! ... a bit like James Bond even. How did you manage to tame your hair? And who gave you that haircut? ... Parvati helped me with mine - she used something called Sleakeasy’s hair potion and styled it for me.” 

“Oh, er... I dunno really,” Harry murmured back as they continued across the marble floor. “I just sort of stared at myself in the mirror - I was feeling really cross that it wouldn’t do what I wanted it to. And then it just sort of happened - my hair just shortened and styled itself.”

“Really?” Hermione looked surprised. “Without a wand?”

“Yeah, it was amazing! I’ve never even tried transfiguring myself with a wand, much less without one.”

“Hmm...”

Harry recognised that pensive frown and, “Hmm...”

“What?”

“Well,” Hermione began slowly, “It is possible to do wandless magic of course, but extremely difficult - _especially_ transfigurations. And the only wizards I’ve heard of who can do _self_ -transfigurations without wands are called Metamorphmagi - they’re extremely rare and they’re born with the talent. 

“Though the talent has to be trained to be used to its full advantage once the wizard has discovered it. Is this the first time you’ve done it?”

“Er... second actually.” Harry felt a thrill run up his spine at the possibility of having discovered a new hidden talent. “I did it once ages ago - before Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia practically shaved all my hair off once, leaving me with only a bit of fringe to cover my scar. I looked a bit like those weird friars from the middle ages with the stupid haircuts.

“I was really upset about having to go to the school next day looking like a freak, and when I woke up the next morning, my hair was completely regrown and back to normal. ... The Dursleys locked me in my cupboard-under-the-stairs for a week after that, even though I didn’t know how I’d done it.”

Hermione blanched slightly in horror. Harry had been so excited, that he’d let a bit more of his past slip without realising. She couldn’t believe that his awful relatives had kept him locked in a cupboard. “ _His_ cupboard,” Harry had called it. Had they actually made him _live_ in the cupboard? Hermione recovered herself quickly though, focusing on the bit that was making Harry happy.

“That’s amazing Harry!” she exclaimed, excitement creeping into her own voice. “I think you really must be a metamorphmagus to be able to do that. We’ll have to find a book to help you train it up - I’m sure there must be one in the library...”

“I can’t wait,” said Harry, his anxiety completely forgotten. They were almost at the staff table when Harry spotted Draco Malfoy sitting slightly apart from a group of Slytherins, apparently dateless. Harry grinned...

**~o0o~**

“That can’t be Granger,” Draco muttered in stunned disbelief. “It can’t be...”

“What’s the matter Draco?” Pansy hissed from the table next to his, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “Granger looking good to you now?” 

“Shut it, Parkinson,” Draco snarled. “Like I’d ever fancy a Mudblood, no matter how good it looked! Watch your mouth!” 

Pansy flinched slightly. 

“Whatever you say, Draco!” she retorted, her voice taking on a frosty tone. Pansy turned back to her date, a strapping lad from Durmstrang with closely cropped hair.

**~o0o~**

Harry was pleased to find that he’d made it all the way to the staff table without tripping and falling flat on his face. As he and Hermione took seats with the other Champions, Harry was startled to see Percy sitting next to Ludo Bagman, where he had expected to see Crouch instead.

Percy drew out the empty seat beside him, and gestured to Harry. Taking the hint, Harry sat down next to Percy, feeling a bit awkward. Bagman grinned at Harry and gave him a sly wink.

Hermione flushed as she took the seat next to Harry. The last time Hermione had seen Percy, she had been in a flaming row with him over Winky the House-Elf. She could remember it as if it were yesterday. 

When Percy had insisted that a high ranking Ministry Official like Mr Crouch deserved _“unswerving obedience from his servants,”_ Hermione’s enraged retort that Winky was a slave, not a servant, had been cut off when Mrs Weasley had brought Ron his “new” dress robes to pack. Having apparently forgotten all about it, Percy bore an almost insufferable expression of smugness on his face. 

“I’m working for the Senior Undersecretary now,” Percy boasted, as if announcing his ascension to the Throne. “I’m her personal assistant. She sent me to cover for Crouch as he’s been ill lately - so I’ll be filling in as judge from now on.”

“Oh, er, that’s cool,” said Harry, looking slightly puzzled. He shot a quick look at Professor Moody before returning to Percy. “So, er... what’s wrong with Crouch then?”

“Overwork, I expect,” Percy replied dismissively, a hint of contempt in his tone. “He’s not as young as he used to be, you know. That fiasco at the World Cup took a toll no doubt, and losing his house-elf didn’t help...”

“He didn’t lose Winky - he _sacked_ her,” Hermione hissed crossly, unable to help herself.

“Er, well, yes - of course he did,” Percy suddenly seemed to recall the fight he’d had with Hermione, and some of his smugness evaporated. 

Clearly thinking better of saying any more, Percy turned to Bagman for conversation instead, but not before Harry caught a slightly odious expression on Percy’s face which wasn’t altogether unlike Malfoy’s. Harry’s puzzlement grew stronger, and Hermione frowned at him questioningly, seeing the look on his face.

“Later,” said Harry, with a little shake of his head, and a warning glance toward Bagman and Percy. 

Hermione took the hint, and pondered the unusual dinner setting instead. Golden plates glittered before them, surrounded by silvery cutlery and sparkling crystal goblets, but the platters, bowls, and dishes which usually held the feast were nowhere to be seen. At each place setting was a scroll of parchment. Hermione and Harry didn’t have long to ponder though.

Seeing everyone settled in, Dumbledore unrolled his scroll of parchment and perused it, then peered down at his plate and said, “pork chops.”

“It’s a menu,” Hermione gasped, then she frowned slightly. 

“Huh!” said Harry, his own gears spinning as he considered the new, more complex dining procedure. He glanced at Hermione. “Seems like a bit more work for the house-elves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” Hermione muttered. “But I’ve decided to table S.P.E.W. for the moment. ... At least until we’ve reconsidered how to go about it, and got you through this tournament safely Harry.”

Putting thoughts of S.P.E.W. aside, Harry and Hermione both ordered from their menus. Harry went for roast beef and mashed potatoes, and Hermione picked the chicken coq au vin and gougère. When bottles of Champagne appeared on the table, both understood why the Yule Ball had been reserved by and large for fourth years and above.

Harry and Hermione engaged in a bit of amiable small talk with the other Champions, and caught snatches of the dinner conversations around the table. Fleur seemed very uncomfortable with Roger Davies. Roger was too busy ogling Fleur to take in a word she was saying, his eyeballs glued to her cleavage, and she didn’t seem happy about it at all. Fleur began making some mildly disparaging comments about the Christmas decorations at Hogwarts to draw Roger’s attention away from her bosom, to little avail.

Cho and Cedric seemed to be making a lot of goo goo eyes at each other, when not being drawn into other conversations. Harry stifled a grin, suddenly imagining Ron miming throwing up into a bucket and sniggering if he were bearing witness to the scene. Hermione smirked at Harry, covering it with a sip of champagne. 

Lavender and Viktor were getting on splendidly, clearly smitten with one another, if not quite as overtly displaying their affections as Cedric and Cho. Still, there were quite a few giggles and blushes shared between them. 

Igor Karkaroff glowered at the happy couple, interjecting when Viktor began chatting about Durmstrang during the summer, admonishing him not to give away the secret of its location. Viktor reddened, sharing awkward looks with Harry, Hermione, and Lavender, having given up that information the previous week.

Noticing the discomforting moment, Dumbledore drew Karkaroff’s attention back to himself, a twinkle in his eye

“Ah, Igor - have you heard the one about the sorcerer, the hag, and the leprechaun?”

“Excuse me?” Karkaroff was slightly taken aback. 

“The sorcerer, the hag, and the leprechaun... One evening at dusk, the three of them strolled into a tavern...”

“Really Albus,” snapped McGonagall, “I hardly think that one is appropriate for the dinner table.”

Moody, Bagman, Hagrid, and Madame Maxime all chuckled, and Percy frowned primly. Snape’s expression almost suggested a rare agreement with McGonagall’s sentiments. But Dumbledore’s work was done, as Karkaroff had been thoroughly distracted from Lavender and Viktor.

Finally, after polishing off dessert - a sherry soaked trifle in Harry and Hermione’s case - dinner was concluded. The candles hovering above dimmed, and the bright magical spotlight shone once again on the other end of the Great Hall, where a platform had shimmered into existence, replete with lute, guitars, drums, cello, fiddle, and bagpipes. The Weird Sisters marched onto the stage and took up their instruments to polite applause. 

“Come on Harry,” Hermione said quietly, beaming at him and taking his hand. “It’s time to dance.”

Nervously, Harry let Hermione lead him to the dancefloor, trying to avoid looking anyone in the eye as they followed the other Champions. The Weird Sisters struck up a lilting waltz, and the Champions began to dance.

Harry started to relax when other students began to join in. Dean shot Harry a thumbs up and a smirk as he waltzed by with Parvati. Ginny dragged Neville from his seat, grinning at Harry and Hermione when she passed them. She giggled when Neville kept stepping on her toes and apologising.

Ron groaned, offering mild resistance as Luna pulled him onto the dancefloor. Ginny gave Luna a wink and grin; Luna beamed back in response.

“Just one dance, Ronald,” Luna insisted. “I don’t care if you’re a horrible dancer - I’m dreadful too. But there’s not much point in coming to a dance, if we don’t dance together at least once.” 

“Oh alright,” Ron grumbled. “Let’s get this over with!”

As soon as the first waltz was over, Ron shot back to his seat, followed quickly by Neville. Unperturbed, Ginny and Luna began dancing together, eyeing each other smugly.

Hermione uttered one of her patented, “Hmm,”s.

“What’s that ‘hmm’ for?” asked Harry, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Well, if I had to place a bet, I’d almost wager that Ginny and Luna planned it this way. They’re both third years, and the only way they could get to the Ball was with a fourth year.” 

“Oh!” said Harry, then his eyes widened as he cottoned on to Hermione’s implication. _“Oh!”_ he repeated as he peered at Ginny and Luna.

Seamus managed to escape from Padma after the second dance, joining Ron and Neville at the table. Padma rolled her eyes, then spotted one of the Beauxbatons boys she had been keeping an eye on, looking all alone and a bit forlorn. Moments later, she was happily dancing again.

Malfoy tried to cut into a few dances, then gave up on the Slytherin girls after Zabini, Warrington, and Marcus all told him to piss-off. He had another crack at a couple of the Beauxbatons girls, then he stormed out of the Great Hall, passing by Ron, Seamus, and Neville who all sniggered at him.

The three of them sat and watched for a few more minutes before Seamus pulled a flask from his pocket and waved it at Ron and Neville, careful to keep it low and out of sight of the professors.

“Right lads, me da sent me a bottle o’ Firewhiskey. What say we all go have a nip, eh?”

“Blimey!” said Ron, his eyes lighting up. “Firewhiskey? Really? Isn’t your dad a muggle though?”

“Yeah, but tha’s one of the advantages of being married to a witch,” Seamus chortled. “It may’ve been a bit of shock at firs’ the way he tells it, but Da’s never regretted livin’ a magical life. So ye in mate?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” said Ron eagerly. “What about you, Nev?”

“Er... I’m not sure,” said Neville, looking anxious.

“Ah, go on mate... ye only live once!” Seamus raised his eyebrows.

“Er... okay, I guess,” Neville mumbled, glancing around the Great Hall nervously.

The three boys slipped into the Entrance Hall, then out through the front doors of the castle into the Courtyard. Snow crunched underfoot, but they were all dressed warmly enough for the time-being. They found a bush behind a bench which hid them from prying eyes, and leaned back against the stone wall of the castle. 

Seamus took a hefty swig from his flask and passed it to Ron. He grinned when Ron coughed on the burning liquid.

“Bloody Hell!” Ron gasped, “No wonder they call it Firewhiskey!” 

“An’ there I thought yeh were an experienced drinker Ronny boy,” Seamus chuckled, “Have another sip, then pass it t’Neville. It’ll smooth out soon enough.”

Neville nearly choked on his first sip too, but after the third, it began to seem alright. As the trio of young wizards shared sips from the flask of Firewhiskey, Hagrid and Madame Maxime plonked heavily on the stone bench with a slight cracking sound in front of the bush they were all hiding behind, apparently taking a breather from the dance. The boys silently groaned when Hagrid began to whisper sweet nothings in Olympe’s gigantic ear. It looked like they might be awhile.

**~o0o~**

Harry felt a surge of boldness in the dim light on the dancefloor, and he held Hermione closer as they moved in time to the rhythms of the waltz’s and folk songs. Hermione shivered delightedly when Harry’s lips brushed against her cheek, gradually tracing a path to her own.

The world fell away and time seemed to stop. Blissful peace washed over them both as they kissed, dancing under the cold starry skies of Yule.

Harry was startled when the lights came up as The Weird Sisters left the stage.

“Has it been a whole set already?” he asked.

“Yes... it’s been an hour Harry,” said Hermione. “I think the next band is going to liven things up a bit. They’re supposed to be a surprise though.”

Harry was stunned when a vaguely familiar looking pop band took over the stage and the Great Hall erupted into loud cheers. Hermione was equally astonished.

“Wait, is that...? No way!” Harry sputtered. “I thought they were a muggle band.”

 _“The Cure?”_ gasped Hermione.

“Oh come on...” said Fred, grinning as he sauntered by with Angelina, “looking like that - how could they be anything but wizards? Loads of famous Goth and Heavy Metal bands are...

“Course some of them are vampires and werewolves too,” chimed in George, swinging by with Alicia Spinnet. 

As the loud drums, guitars, and keyboards rocked the Great Hall, Albus Dumbledore started to tap his toes and nod his head, his eyes twinkling merrily. It had been decades since he had frequented muggle nightclubs in London with his on again/off again partner Elphias Doge, but Albus felt the years fall away as the spirited rhythms lifted his soul. Perhaps he wasn’t too old after all. 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Professor McGonagall and held out his hand. Minerva pursed her lips and shook her head disapprovingly.

“I’ll take this dance, Albus,” giggled Madam Pomfrey as she took his hand instead.

Finally rising from the stone bench after a long snog, Olympe stumbled and giggled when Hagrid caught her. The three drunk boys hiding in the bushes behind them breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the two half-giants headed back to the Ballroom.

Thankfully the magical properties of firewhiskey had protected Ron, Seamus, and Neville from the freezing night. And fortunately for the three of them, they had arrived just in time to see The Cure perform.

Fred and Angelina were burning up the dancefloor during The Cure’s set, and people made way for the vigorously dancing duo. But Harry was caught off-guard when Moody appeared to be doing an ungainly little jig nearby with Professor Sinistra. Moody’s eye spun grotesquely, and he shot Harry an ugly grin.

“Nice socks, Potter!” Moody chuckled, his magical eye apparently seeing through Harry’s robes, as he clunked by on his wooden leg.

Hermione squeaked, quickly putting Harry between herself and Moody. 

“That eye of his is so creepy,” Hermione muttered. “What was that about your socks, Harry? And wasn’t there something else you were going to tell me earlier.”

“Oh, er, I forgot - I’m wearing the socks that Dobby gave me.” Harry frowned. “And yeah, I don’t see how Crouch can be so ill like Percy says. I saw him twice more on the Map in Moody’s quarters, Hermione, just a couple of days ago. ... Something weird is definitely going on - I bet Crouch is here somewhere. He and Moody are up to something - I just know it.”

“Maybe there’s been some sort of Tournament security breach,” said Hermione, shivering slightly, as she let Harry lead her off the dancefloor by the hand, “and Crouch has been here staking things out undercover.”

“Maybe,” Harry muttered as he backed into a shadowy corner away from the crowded dancefloor, “But I’m going to find out once and for all,” he added as he reached into his dress-robes. “Keep an eye on Moody and Sinistra...”

“You brought it with you? ...the Map?”

“Yeah, I decided to start carrying it around to try and catch Moody and Crouch together at the same time. Then I had a really weird thought when Percy said Crouch had been ill and couldn’t come to Hogwarts...” Harry unfolded the Map and tapped it with his wand, muttering, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” under his breath.

There was just enough light in the corner to read the names on the map. Hermione glanced down at the map and back up to where she had last seen Moody with Sinistra, then back down again at the map, unable to believe her eyes. Her jaw dropped as she shared a horrified look with Harry, who had seen exactly the same thing.

“It’s _him!”_ she hissed quietly, her heart pounding, almost sounding louder in her ears now than the drums, “...dancing with Professor Sinistra! He must be polyjuiced!”

“Yeah,” Harry scowled, feeling strangely vindicated, “Moody is really Crouch!”

“Harry, we _have_ to tell Dumbledore - right now!” said Hermione, her voice urgent. “I can’t think of a single legitimate reason for Crouch to be impersonating Professor Moody! But we’ll have to do it quietly without letting anyone else know...”


	8. The After-Party

His heart pounding, breath quickening, Harry searched the Great Hall for Dumbledore, finally spotting him on the dancefloor with Professor Babbling when Hermione pointed them out on the Marauder’s Map. Harry stuffed the Map back into the pocket in his robes and took Hermione’s hand. As quickly as they could, they wove through the crowd, which was pogoing to one of The Cure’s bouncier ditties.

Harry goggled at Dumbledore, catching him in mid-bounce. Hermione looked equally bemused to see their headmaster cutting loose. Dumbledore halted, twinkling at his two stunned pupils.

“Harry, Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sir... er... could we speak to you in private for a minute?” Harry asked, glancing nervously at Professor Babbling. 

“It’s really important!” Hermione added.

“Certainly! I always have time for my students,” said Dumbledore, taking stock of their earnest, anxious features. He gave Professor Babbling an apologetic look. “Bathsheda, if you don’t mind...” 

“Of course not, Albus,” Professor Babbling reassured him. “Duty calls! Our pupils come first after all...” Babbling beamed at Hermione. “And by the way dear, that last paper on warding against Water Sprites and Demons was exceptional. Your translations were very accurate - any sailor would be lucky to have you developing rune sequences for their boats...”

“Thank you Professor Babbling,” Hermione squeaked, blushing at her high praises. “I just wish I was a bit better at the execution...”

“Nonsense dear! Your calligraphy and carving techniques are quite good - more than adequate...”

Despite feeling anxious, Harry grinned; he could tell from Hermione’s expression that ‘more than adequate’ wasn’t good enough in her mind.

“Well then,” said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the door of the anteroom, which was located behind the stage, “Shall we?”

As Harry and Hermione followed Dumbledore around the stage, Harry glanced at the amplifiers and electric guitars and synthesizers, wondering how the band managed to operate them if electrical equipment didn’t operate properly in Hogwarts. Were there Charms to make them work with magic instead? Shelving that thought to discuss with Hermione later, Harry darted through the doorway into the anteroom. 

Once Dumbledore shut the door, only the muffled boom of bass and drums could be heard coming from the other side. It took his ears a moment to adjust to the relative quiet after all the noise in the Great Hall.

“I can see this is a matter of some urgency,” said Dumbledore, his features more serious, the twinkles fading. “Please, by all means, don’t be shy.”

Harry took a deep breath and began. 

“Professor Dumbledore, sir, it’s Professor Moody... It’s not really him! He’s really Barty Crouch...”

“He must be using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Professor Moody,” Hermione interjected. “But we don’t know why he would do such a thing.”

“Why indeed?” said Dumbledore, stroking his long silvery beard and looking mildly skeptical. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

Harry took another deep breath and swallowed anxiously, hoping Dumbledore wouldn’t be too cross with him when he showed him the proof. His hand shaking slightly, he reached into his dress robes.

“This...” said Harry as he unfolded the Marauder’s Map and handed it to the Headmaster, “...this originally belonged to my dad, and I suppose to Sirius and Lupin too. They invented it. It proves that Moody is really Crouch. ... Look at the names of everyone in the Great Hall, and see who’s really dancing with Professor Sinistra.”

“Good Heavens!” Dumbledore exclaimed, his bushy eyebrows shooting up as his fingers lightly brushed the surface of the parchment. “This is a truly remarkable piece of magic! Your father and his friends created this during their time at Hogwarts I presume?”

“Y...Yeah,” Harry nodded, watching Dumbledore’s eyes dart across the page, scouring the floorplan of the Great Hall. 

The headmaster’s eyes widened in surprise again, then narrowed in consternation. 

“Ah, yes! So I see, Harry. It would appear that you are correct, and Miss Granger’s deduction is most likely correct as well. This is quite troubling... very disturbing in fact.”

“What’s going to happen now, sir? What are you going to do?”

“For the moment, we are going to enjoy the rest of the Yule Ball to the best of our ability,” said Dumbledore calmly as he folded up the Map, “and act as if nothing is wrong. I must please ask you both to say nothing, not even to your friends for right now. It would not do to raise Crouch’s suspicions that anyone might be on to him in such an open setting.” 

Dumbledore then held out the Map, as if he expected Harry to take it back.

“Sir? I... I don’t understand...” 

“Well, it is yours after all.” A twinkle returned to Dumbledore’s eye, though his features otherwise retained a grave demeanor. 

“Really?” Harry was flabbergasted, having expected to be admonished, and have it taken away, as Lupin had done when first discovering that Harry had been using it. He glanced at Hermione who didn’t look quite as surprised as he did, and there was a strong hint of, “just-go-along-with-it,” in her expression.

“Really, Harry!” Dumbledore nodded. “I am quite serious...”

“But what if you need it?”

“I believe that you may need it far more than I do, Harry. I daresay that along with your Invisibility Cloak, this will afford you even more protection from any potential threats at Hogwarts. I suggest you keep it handy at all times.”

Harry gulped, Dumbledore’s meaning becoming all too clear to him. Hermione shot a, “see, I-told-you-so,” sort of look at Harry, and he realised that she had understood the advantages that the Map had provided him against any possible invasion of Hogwarts by Voldemort or his supporters long before he himself had - probably since Lupin had returned it to him at the end of Third Year. 

“Right, okay,” said Harry slightly hoarsely, nodding, his jaw setting in resolve as he retrieved the Map from Dumbledore. 

“Very good! Now, as I was saying, until the Ball is over, keep your heads down. I will invite several of the professors - including the False Moody - to the staff room for a nightcap at the Ball’s conclusion. There, we will unmask his true identity, and I would like you and Miss Granger to join us...”

This time it was Hermione who blurted out, “Really?” with a bewildered look on her face.

“Yes indeed. If my suspicions are correct - some of them quite... _perplexing_ \- then this involves Harry a great deal. It may be that Crouch is not the Crouch you believe him to be, which seems impossible on its face. ... That, I will explain later in more detail, should my suspicions prove to be true. 

“For now, suffice it say that it is probable that Crouch - as Moody - placed your name in the Goblet, Harry. You deserve to know why, and to hear it from the ‘horse’s mouth,’ so to speak. And Miss Granger, as your compatriot, having stood by your side through thick and thin, is equally deserving...”

**~o0o~**

It was hard not to want to say anything to anyone during the remainder of the Ball. Hermione could see Harry itching to tell someone. Harry peered longingly at Ron and Neville, who were sitting with Seamus, all slouched at one of the tables with sloppy grins on their faces as they watched the band playing and gawked at the girls in their ballgowns. But even if Harry had been tempted to tell Ron and Neville, it was clear that they were too plastered to pay much attention.

Harry and Hermione tried dancing a bit more, but they were both a bit too agitated to really enjoy it, and Harry kept shooting glances at Moody, who was now dancing with Pomfrey. Hermione knew she had to do something before Harry made Moody suspicious.

“Come on Harry,” she said, dragging him away from the dancefloor. 

“Er... What?”

“I know you’re anxious, Harry. I am too! But we need to try and forget about this for another hour at least.”

“Fat chance of that!” Harry snorted. 

“Oh, I think we’ll find a way!” Hermione led Harry to a chair by one of the most isolated tables and plonked him in it, grinning. Then she popped the cork on an unopened bottle of champagne and filled two empty goblets to the brim.

“Cheers! Bottoms up, Harry!”

“Oh... er, alright,” said Harry, suddenly catching on. He gave her a lopsided grin in return. “Cheers Hermione!”

Two glasses of champagne later, and they were both feeling a lot more relaxed and giggly. Hermione licked her lips and pulled Harry out of his seat. Harry thought they were going to dance again, but Hermione apparently had other ideas. She led him out through the great oak front doors of the castle, and into the courtyard.

The cold air was bracing, and it was lightly snowing again, but the champagne induced tingles shooting through Hermione and Harry kept them warm. The music was loud enough to waft through the windows of the Great Hall, some of which had been cracked open to prevent overheating during the Ball. The courtyard had been decorated too, with ornamental red and white Christmas Roses. 

“Hellebore,” Harry chuckled giddily as he sat down on a stone bench near the castle which hadn’t gathered too much fresh snow yet. “I just realised, Hermione - Christmas Roses are Hellebore - I recognise them from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_...”

“Very good Harry,” Hermione giggled, snuggling right up next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. “We’ll make a potioneer out of you yet...”

“Maybe so,” said Harry, looking slightly wistful as he curled an arm around Hermione. “It’s a bit like cooking really, and I’m alright at that, actually. I help Aunt Petunia cook and it’s one of the chores at the Dursleys I never really minded doing...”

“Do your aunt and uncle make you do loads of chores then?” Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Sometimes. I don’t do everything - Aunt Petunia does a lot herself. But they don’t make Dudley do any chores at all. That probably bothers me the most... well, that and when they give me extra chores and no supper for punishments...” 

Hermione wondered how often they punished Harry for him to look so thin at the beginning of school terms - and she knew his aunt and uncle had been starving him half to death last summer when they had put his cousin on a diet, because Harry had actually broken down and sent Hedwig to her and Ron with pleas for food - but she didn’t like to ask any more questions along those lines at the moment. It felt nice and peaceful cuddling Harry while watching the whorls of falling snow and she didn’t want to spoil the mood. 

“Anyway,” Harry went on, chuckling again, “that’s probably why I like cooking... nicking bits of food whenever Aunt Petunia has her back turned. Still, there’s something kind of nice about mixing ingredients together and coming up with something new, and Potions is a lot like that. ... I sometimes feel that I might actually like Potions if Snape weren’t teaching it.”

Harry fell silent and Hermione hoped he wasn’t dwelling on things, but then she felt his lips pressing against her hair and she sighed happily. Harry planted several kisses atop Hermione’s head, which she tilted until his kisses met her lips. Soon they were both entwined, lost in one another as the kiss grew deeper and more impassioned.

Hermione didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, but she giggled when their lips finally parted and she saw a layer of snow frosting Harry’s hair. Harry grinned at her, and flicked a few of the curls spilling over her shoulder, sending a few snowflakes flying. 

“You look like a Snow Queen.” 

Hermione blushed and fluttered her eyelashes shyly. “I think I’d rather be Gerda, actually.”

“Pardon?”

“In Hans Christian Andersen’s story, _The Snow Queen_ , Gerda is a girl who saves a boy named Kai from splinters of a troll-mirror which are lodged in his heart and eye with a kiss. She saves him with the power of her love.” 

“Oh! Okay, Gerda it is then,” said Harry, smiling gently as he leaned in for another kiss. “I suppose that makes me Kai...”

**~o0o~**

By the time Harry and Hermione returned to the ballroom, The Cure were on their last song. When it was finished, they tarried near the staff table while the students began filing out of the Great Hall, returning to their respective common rooms. They eyed the headmaster with great curiosity when he seemed to whisper something in “Professor Moody’s” ear.

Moody nodded and grinned, then waved them over.

“Potter, Granger, how about a nightcap with me and a few professors before goin’ back to Gryffindor? Seems like Dumbledore’s feelin’ a bit generous tonight with his brandy. He’s got a bottle over three hundred years old that he’s been savin’ for the right occasion, and he reckons you two can handle a couple o’ sips without comin’ to any harm.”

“Oh, er, sure,” said Harry, feeling a bit startled by Dumbledore’s rather cunning ploy. “Er... How about you Hermione?” he asked, trying act as casual as possible, despite the fact that his heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

“Erm... alright!” Hermione squeaked, trying not to show her own trepidation. 

She and Harry waited while the professors saw to the band packing up and made sure that the pupils were all off safely, and spotted the Weasley Twins approaching them through the dwindling crowd of students.

“There you are,” said George, “We’ve been looking for you two...”

“After-party in the common room is starting right now,” said Fred. 

“Er... We’re actually joining a few of the professors for a... er, nightcap,” said Harry, flushing slightly.

“Oooh, a nightcap with the profs! All high and mighty aren’t we now?” sniggered Fred. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Right, well if you want to join the rest of us plebs when you’re finished, you know where to find us,” George chortled.

Finally the hall was empty and most of the professors had trotted off to their own quarters, leaving Harry and Hermione with the headmaster, “Moody,” and Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick, and Madam Pomfrey. If Harry weren’t anxious enough already, Snape shot him a look of loathing as they all made their way to the staff room.

The staff room was as cozy as the Gryffindor common room, with sofas and plush armchairs aplenty, and a roaring fire blazing in the hearth. 

“Please, by all means, make yourselves comfortable,” said Dumbledore warmly, reaching into the liquor cabinet for an ancient, dusty looking bottle and an assortment of crystal snifters.

Harry and Hermione plopped on a sofa together, smiling nervously at the professors. McGonagall and Snape both looked a bit uncomfortable, but Flitwick beamed cheerily, and Pomfrey - usually so stern when in her own fiefdom - gave Harry and Hermione a reassuring smile.

Dumbledore lofted the bottle of brandy and blew a bit of the dust from it, his eyes twinkling.

“Dragon Barrel Brandy... nearly three hundred and fifty years old, never opened,” the headmaster stated casually. “And this seems a splendid occasion to rectify that situation. I did ask Olympe and Igor to join us as well, but apparently Olympe has hit it off with our illustrious Care of Magical Creatures professor, and Igor... well, is Igor. 

“I am pleased you could join us Harry, Miss Granger,” he continued as he filled their snifters. “Normally I wouldn’t be offering such a strong libation to fourth year students, but this year is a bit different after all, and a rather special occasion, don’t you think?” Dumbledore gave them both a wink, and a canny smile which neither of them thought had anything to do with the false Moody situation.

“Oh, er... yes it is,” Hermione squeaked, turning pink.

“Er... I suppose it is,” Harry agreed, his cheeks growing hotter. Dumbledore poured each of the professors a snifter in turn, then lifted his own goblet in the air.

“If I may, I propose a toast, to a pair of the brightest young students to have graced these hallowed halls. Harry, Miss Granger, you have both truly done Hogwarts proud this year, representing the best that this school has to offer. 

“Your path has been difficult Harry, and fraught with peril, each year bringing you new challenges far beyond that which most students could be expected to face, yet you have met each challenge with grace, courage, and no small amount of wit...”

Harry could see Snape struggling to contain himself, but Dumbledore seemed to be ignoring the Potion Master’s discomposure as he continued. 

“...And Miss Granger, your sharp intellect, warmness of heart, and steadfastness beyond measure has stood Harry well in meeting those challenges in concert with one another. It gives an old man great pleasure to bear witness to the flowering of your partnership with Harry. I have no doubt that the both of you will have a long and happy future together...”

Snape couldn’t help letting out a disdainful snort at that point; Pomfrey and McGonagall both shot him glares and Flitwick raised his eyebrows. “Moody” chuckled, and winked at Snape with his real eye.

“Cheers, then, to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, may they both flourish in the embrace of Hogwarts’ bosom,” Dumbledore concluded, as if oblivious to the drama proceeding around him.

“Cheers!” said the professors in unison, clinking their glasses together, though Snape’s, “Cheers,” was hissed through gritted teeth, his lips curled in a grimace.

Harry and Hermione were both as red as the field on the Gryffindor coat of arms now, as they took sips from their own goblets. They were both pleasantly surprised by the rich, fruity flavour of the brandy, and grateful for the soothing warmth which crept through their veins as it slipped down their throats, feeling their nerves settle.

On the other sofa, something odd seemed to be happening. “Moody” - who was seated between Snape and Flitwick - began to twitch. The two professors on either side of the false Moody had their wands out instantly. Without a word, ropes shot out from Flitwick’s wand, binding “Moody” tightly.

“Albus, what the bloody blazes...?” gasped “Moody,” just before his eyes glazed over and the twitching stopped. 

“My apologies, _‘Alastor,’_ which I doubt very much is your real name,” said Dumbledore politely. “I have it on good authority that you are not who you claim to be. And I suspect we shall see the truth of the matter in less than five minutes, as I last saw you sipping from your hip-flask nearly an hour ago.”

“Moody” simply stared back glassily. Harry and Hermione peered at him, bewildered.

“Veritaserum - a truth telling potion,” said the headmaster, for the benefit of his students. “Professor Snape was kind enough to sneak out before the end of the Yule Ball and return with a vial of it, which I slipped into ‘Alastor’s’ drink as I poured the brandy. Now all that remains is to wait and see if the polyjuice wears off as suspected, and then interrogate him. 

Sure enough, after several minutes passed, everyone fidgeting in anticipation, “Moody’s” features began to bubble and melt. The magical eye popped out with a disgusting squelchy sound and rolled across the floor, the wooden peg-leg fell away from his knee with a clunk, replaced with a growing calf and foot. The grizzled hair shortened and stubble withdrew into the bubbling skin.

When the transformation was complete, Harry and Hermione were both utterly perplexed. McGonagall gasped in shock. Snape’s eyes widened, and he shot a look at Dumbledore which held perhaps even a small hint of fear.

“That’s not Barty Crouch!” Harry blurted out, peering in astonishment at the much younger man with stubble free skin and a thatch of straw coloured hair. Hermione clutched Harry’s hand tightly, frowning.

“Actually, it _is_ ,” said Dumbledore. “However, it is not the Barty Crouch you were expecting. Meet Barty Crouch’s son - Barty Crouch _**Junior**_... who was imprisoned in Azkaban - along with the Lestranges for torturing Neville Longbottom’s parents into insanity - by his own father no less.”

“But he’s supposed to be dead!” snapped McGonagall. 

“Though he would not be the first to escape the clutches of death that we know of,” Snape muttered meaningfully, a sour expression on his face.

“Quite true,” said Dumbledore, nodding as he stroked his long silvery beard pensively. “But I have my doubts that we are looking at another ‘Dark Lord.’ I believe there is something much more intriguing going on. And there, we will begin our interrogation. ... Barty can you hear me?”

“Yes,” said Crouch Junior in a flat, wooden tone.

“Very good,” said Dumbledore gently. “Now, if you please, tell us how you have come to still be alive, and escaped Azkaban...”

Harry and Hermione listened intently, growing more and more bewildered and tense as Crouch revealed all, an intricate plot hatched by his brokenhearted mother, and carried out in conjunction with his father, who had apparently loved her deeply enough to break their son out of prison for her. The plan had involved polyjuice potion and the mother taking her son’s place in Azkaban, where she eventually died, still bearing his features.

Meanwhile, Crouch Junior was being watched over by his father - who kept Junior under the Imperius Curse much of the time to control him - and looked after by Winky the house-elf. 

The story took an even more bizarre turn when Dumbledore pressed Crouch Junior to explain how and why he had come to be at Hogwarts, disguised as Alastor Moody. Apparently things began to go awry with the plan around the time of the World Cup, when Crouch Junior managed to escape the control of his father’s Imperius Curse, and had cast the Dark Mark as a warning to the Death Eaters causing mayhem - those who had disloyally disavowed the Dark Lord to stay out of Azkaban, believing him to be dead and gone.

Junior had then been discovered in his home by Voldemort and Wormtail, after they had apparently got all the information they needed from a hapless Bertha Jorkins (who had learned of Junior’s existence inadvertently, only to have the knowledge obliviated by Crouch Senior) when she was on holiday in Albania.

Harry’s head was spinning with all the convoluted details as the story continued - much of it stretching credulity to its breaking point - his chest taut with anxiety to learn that Crouch Junior had been sent by Voldemort to Hogwarts as Moody, while Crouch Senior was being kept imprisoned in his own home and imperiused when sent out on occasion to keep up appearances at the Ministry. 

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand comfortingly and gave him a sorrowful look when it was revealed that Crouch Junior had entered Harry into the tournament, in a twisted plot to somehow manage to keep Harry alive all the way through till the end, and _then_ kidnap him in a bid to reconstitute Voldemort through some sort of ritual. 

It all seemed a bit stupid really to Harry - why not just kidnap him right at the beginning and save all the trouble? That still didn’t make a lick of sense to him, even when Crouch Junior’s supply of information had been exhausted.

Harry hoped that at least they would be able to work out where on earth Voldemort was hiding, but Crouch Junior wasn’t able to reveal that tidbit due to some sort of Secret Keeping Spell. Crouch Junior had been supposed to turn the Triwizard Cup (the award - part of the prize - not the Goblet of Fire as Harry had at first assumed) into a Portkey at the very last minute, so it was impossible to track down Voldemort that way.

One good thing came out of the whole affair though. When the interrogation was finished, Dumbledore called for Winky the house-elf. She was beside herself and sobbing at first to see her Master’s son captive, and to hear of his involvement with the Dark Lord. 

Hermione was in tears to see her so abject, and this time it was Harry who provided the comforting hug. His arms wrapped tightly around Hermione and held her close as they listened to Dumbledore explaining things to Winky. 

“My poor Master,” Winky wailed after hearing a truncated version of events, “Barty is being very bad boy, hurting his father. But I is not wanting to see him punished. He is needing love and caring.”

“I am so sorry Winky,” said Dumbledore as pitiful house-elf wept. “There is little I can do about that. I expect that once his story is told to the proper authorities, he will be sent back to Azkaban. But there is one who still needs you. Barty Crouch Senior is still very much alive and Imperiused, held captive in his own home.

“As your current employer, it is my wish that you bring Barty Crouch Senior to the Hogwarts infirmary for recuperation, this very night, where Madam Pomfrey will see to his medical needs. Following his recovery, you are to look after Barty Crouch Senior at his home once more...”

“You is letting me work for my old Master?” Winky squealed in surprise. “But what if Master is not wanting me?”

“I do not believe that Barty will have any objections, at this point,” Dumbledore sighed. “However, he will not be able to send you away or sack you again, as technically you will be working for him on my behalf.”

“Oh _thank you_ Master Dumbledore, sir! Thank you!” Winky wept again, but this time big fat tears of joy rolled down her beaming cheeks. “Thank you! You is being great wizard to give me back my true Master. Thank you!”

Dumbledore wiped a tear away from his own eye and smiled back at the effusive house-elf.

“Then go Winky. Go now to your old Master and bring him to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will meet you there.” There was a little popping sound, and Winky was gone. “Poppy?” Dumbledore peered at Pomfrey over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“I’m already on my way, Albus,” said the school nurse, clambering to her feet. “Are you coming Severus?” she asked, her tone cold, “We have to pick up the real Alastor on the way...”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sobbed, her tears dripping onto Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for Winky, but I can’t stop crying.”

“You don’t mind?” asked Harry, not sure of his own perplexing cauldron of feelings.

“Oh, one day, I’m still going to do my best to make sure that house-elves have rights, Harry. But that’s just it - freedom doesn’t mean house-elves shouldn’t be able work for who they like. I never wanted to take away their happiness - I just want them to have freedom to _**choose**_ who to work for, and to not be treated cruelly.

“Winky loves Barty Crouch to bits... Of course Winky should work for him if that’s what she wants, as long as he isn’t mistreating her.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, nodding his head, “I agree a hundred percent. I _hate_ slavery! I’m sorry I wasn’t a bit more supportive of S.P.E.W. Hermione, I guess I was letting Ron and Hagrid influence my opinion a bit. 

“But you’re going to _**have**_ to do something about that acronym, Hermione,” he added, grinning. “It really is dreadful.” 

Hermione let out a teary little giggle. “You’re right Harry. I suppose it’s not very conducive to eliciting sympathy for house-elves...”

“Well, I hate to intrude on this moment,” said Dumbledore, who had apparently finished giving his instructions to the other professors, “But I believe it best that you return to Gryffindor now. You and I have much to discuss, Harry, and we will be talking again at length before the New Year...”

“What’s going to happen with Barty Crouch Junior?” asked Harry, still trying to fill in the gaps. 

“...And the real Moody?” asked Hermione worriedly.

“Professors Flitwick and McGonagall are going to secure Crouch Junior in a warded, but comfortably furnished dungeon cell tonight. And I will be sending for Madam Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt tomorrow to take his testimony for themselves... After that, as I explained to Winky, he will likely be returned to Azkaban. I wish there were more we could do for him, but as you can see, Crouch Junior is quite devoted to Voldemort, and it would not do for him to escape from Saint Mungo’s Mind Healing ward.

“As to Alastor... once he has recovered from his ordeal, I see no reason why he shouldn’t take on the role I hired him on for. There is none other more suited to the task of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts - I would trust him with my life... 

“Which is probably why I was less cautious than I should have been in regards to keeping my eye on him,” Dumbledore sighed. “Even I sometimes make mistakes. I should have been much more on guard after the near conjunction of events at the World Cup with the incident which resulted in the apparent Alastor Moody’s altercation with muggle policemen.

“This all confirms the vision you had earlier this summer, of course, Harry. Which is why we must be on high alert and reevaluate the current situation. Voldemort has failed for now - he cannot reconstitute himself in the manner he had hoped... and that gives us time to make plans. 

“As I said, you and I will be conferring in coming days to try and sort things out - and Miss Granger, given your closeness with Harry, I do believe your presence is warranted as well. But for now, get some rest, and make the best of the holidays - you have both earned the respite. 

“And if I am not mistaken, I do believe that the Weasley Twins’ post-Ball celebration is continuing in the Gryffindor common room. They are no doubt expecting you,” Dumbledore concluded, the twinkles returning to his eyes.


	9. Boxing Day

Dumbledore’s keen ability to accurately guess what was going on at Hogwarts wasn’t guaranteed, as evidenced by the exposure of Barty Crouch Junior, but Harry decided it was still pretty remarkable when he and Hermione found Fred and George’s after-party still going strong, despite the late hour (which was nearing two am).

“The Champion and his Lady-in-Waiting have arrived,” Fred announced gleefully over the loud music blaring from the horn of the old fashioned record player as he gave an exaggerated, sweeping bow, “deigning to grace their subjects with their presence.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry snorted mirthfully, shaking his head.

“What say ye my liege and lady?” George called out, following the lead of his twin. “Dost thou care to share a libation with the peasants?” 

He gestured towards a table festooned with a legion of bottles, mostly butterbeers, but there were a number of champagne bottles - clearly nicked from the Yule Ball - and a smattering of smaller bottles of stronger stuff, including red-currant-rum and firewhiskey (which the prefects were pretending didn’t exist).

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the rum and the firewhiskey, but having imbibed a few sips of “stronger stuff” with the headmaster, she knew she couldn’t really say anything without seeming a complete hypocrite. She glanced at Harry and was pleased to see him shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks!” said Harry. “I had a few glasses of champagne earlier and a brandy with Dumbledore - that was plenty. I don’t want to get completely pissed.”

“Probably for the best,” Fred chortled. “You don’t want to end up like the Three Musketeers...”

“You should’ve seen them,” George guffawed, “Ron, Neville, and Seamus are totally sauced. They’d give Uncle Bilius a run for his money.”

“Uncle Bilius?” Hermione frowned thoughtfully; the name seemed familiar. “Isn’t he the one who _supposedly_ died twenty four hours after seeing a ‘Grim’?”

“Is that what Ron told you?” George snorted. “The way I heard it he snuffed it after tossing back one too many at the pub and tripping over his neighbour’s dog - just happened to be a black labrador. He hit his head, and didn’t go to St Mungo’s, thinking he was alright. ... By the time one of the cousins he’d been drinking with checked on him the next evening, it was too late.” 

“Shame really,” said Fred wistfully, “He was the life of the party. He’d down a bottle of firewhiskey, whip up his robes, and pull bouquets of flowers out of his arse. ... He’d’ve been alright if he’d just gone to a Healer to check his noggin.” 

“Hmm... Sounds like an object lesson in not over-indulging to me,” Hermione proffered. 

Fred shrugged.

Harry couldn’t help but agree with Hermione. It was one thing to get pleasantly tipsy, but he’d been on the receiving end of Aunt Marge’s vicious drunken tirades too many times to see much point in getting sloshed - that was usually when she started complaining about him, or whacking him with her walking stick. 

“Anyway, I think I’m off to bed,” said Harry, “I’m bloody knackered - been up since five thirty. But don’t stop your after-party on my account,” he added with a half-smile.

“Don’t worry! We won’t,” said George, grinning. “‘Night then, Harry.”

After saying good night to Fred too, Harry walked Hermione to the foot of the stairs which led to the girls’ dormitories. Hermione smiled at Harry, just a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“I had a lovely time today, Harry, despite how it ended. At least Voldemort’s plans have been thwarted...”

“...for now,” Harry interjected. Hermione nodded.

“I know. But we’ll get through it, Harry - together. We always have...” Hermione thought she saw a glimmer of something in Harry’s eye - guilt, or worry, she wasn’t sure - but then it faded.

“Yeah, we will,” said Harry quietly, taking Hermione’s hand. 

His eyes flickered at the rest of the busy common room as he wondered if it was dark enough. Hermione made the decision for the both of them, reckoning everyone else was too distracted to pay attention, and drew Harry closer for a proper kiss. The noise of the party faded as their arms encircled one another, and for a moment they were the only two people in the world. When the kiss finally ended, Hermione was pleased to see Harry looking cheerfully dazed again.

“Good night Harry. See you tomorrow,” she murmured before turning and climbing up the stairs. 

Harry watched Hermione for a moment, then made his way to the other side of the common room and up the stairs to his own dorm. Upon entering, Harry was briefly taken aback, his eyebrows shooting up. He rubbed his crinkled forehead, torn between feeling amused and mildly embarrassed for Ron and Seamus. 

Only Neville seemed to have managed to climb into his bed properly and pull up the covers. Seamus was completely starkers, save for a sock dangling from one foot, and lying face down on top of his bedclothes, his pyjamas still in one hand and his clothes strewn across the floor. 

Ron wasn’t in much better shape, clad only in his boxers - barely, as he had apparently passed out before he’d got them past the top of his thighs, exposing his bum - sprawled across his bed, pyjamas beside him, and drooling into his pillow. His clothes were also messily scattered across the carpet. Shaking his head and smirking slightly, Harry drew the curtains around Ron’s bed and Seamus’s bed to save them all any further embarrassment when they woke the next morning...

**~o0o~**

Dumbledore couldn’t recall such an eventful Boxing Day morning in recent history. He stirred a spoonful of honey and squeezed a slice of lemon into his steaming cup of Earl Grey as he eyed his deputy headmistress who was adding a splash of milk and a sugar cube to her own tea.

They both sipped their teas in silence, listening to the crackling of the flames in the hearth and Fawkes ruffling his feathers. Finally, Minerva McGonagall broke the quietude.

“Well, this is quite the to do, Albus! Voldemort may be foiled for now, but how long until he crafts another mad scheme to come after Mr Potter?”

“That is indeed a good question, Minerva. There is no clear answer to that. Though we can at least be thankful that Cornelius has seen reason. He cannot deny that Voldemort has returned, as I feared he might. The evidence presented by Amelia and Kingsley after their own thorough Veritaserum interrogation of Barty Crouch Junior, and the confirmation from the Senior Crouch was far too convincing for Cornelius to ignore.

“And given the soft spot Cornelius has for Harry Potter, his drifting allegiances have now been pulled firmly back into our orbit. I had little trouble convincing him that Lucius Malfoy is also a potential threat to Harry. Cornelius will now, I believe, be quite reticent to continue giving Lucius the time of day...” 

“Yes, well, it’s the Senior Undersecretary who most concerns me,” said McGonagall pointedly. “I don’t trust her, and she still has Cornelius’s ear.” 

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed. “Dolores Umbridge certainly bears keeping an eye on. In any case, in regards to Voldemort, I have put the Order on high alert, and Amelia has agreed to station some Aurors at Hogwarts. Kingsley will be joining us of course, and he and Alastor have made some recommendations of those who are less inclined to be swayed by Scrimgeour’s perspective. 

“There is one in particular who should make a suitable escort for Harry - Alastor and Kingsley both believe she is a good candidate for recruitment into the Order. ... Now, on to other matters. ... Minerva, I confess, I am in a quandary regarding several problems which concern Harry, and I believe it is long past time to confide in you, and seek your counsel. I feel I also owe you an apology - there are a number of things I have kept from you over the years...”

“You don’t say,” McGonagall snorted. “Perhaps you can start with why you _really_ left Potter with those awful people...”

Dumbledore sighed, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Indeed, that is a good place to begin...”

A knock at the door of the headmaster’s office startled McGonagall; she pursed her lips and frowned in frustration. Of course there would be an interruption just as she was about to get some real answers for a change.

“Please feel free to enter,” called out Dumbledore, “the door is unlocked.”

The door creaked open and a girl with pink spiky hair who barely appeared to be sixteen or seventeen poked her head in, looking a bit nervous.

“Oh, sorry Professor Dumbledore, sir. I didn’t know you had company - Shacklebolt told me you ‘ad a special assignment for me and to get over here as soon as possible. Hi Professor McGonagall.”

“Ah, thank you for coming Auror Tonks, do come in,” said Dumbledore warmly, his eyes twinkling. “My apologies for drawing you away from your family this holiday season. But yes, this assignment is indeed regarding a matter of some urgency...”

**~o0o~**

It was almost noon before Seamus and Ron peeked out through their curtains, their faces red with embarrassment, both thankful there was nobody else in the dormitory. They both winced when the light hit their eyes.

“Er... What happened last night, Seamus?” Ron squeaked. “Are you, er...”

“Starkers mate,” said Seamus, “You too?”

Ron nodded, then wished he hadn’t when his head throbbed painfully.

“D’you think anyone saw us?” he asked.

“S’pose so,” Seamus mumbled as he massaged his sore temples. “ _Someone_ must’ve shut our curtains. Either Harry or Dean, or both, I guess.”

Ron groaned, then glanced over at Neville’s unoccupied bed and frowned, hoping to have him to share the embarrassment with as well. 

“How did Nev manage to survive?” he grumbled.

“Smaller sips than us, I reckon,” said Seamus. “He was still pretty smashed though, just not as bad as us.”

“Speaking of which, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Hangover mate! Me Da gets ‘em all the time - at least once a week. Reckon Pomfrey will have somethin’ for the headache...”

Ron and Seamus dragged on some clean clothes, both moaning in pain when they stood up to find them. Then the haggard looking pair shuffled off to the hospital wing, hoping Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t ask too many questions. They both spotted curtains pulled around one of the hospital beds in the ward.

“Wonder who else is in here?” Ron muttered.

“Probably Harry,” said Seamus, grinning as much as his aching head would allow. “He’s always in here for something or other.”

Madam Pomfrey peered out through the doorway of her office to see who the new arrivals were. She raised her eyebrows, giving them both a shrewd look.

“Mr Weasley, Finnegan, I hope you’re not bothering my patient,” she said brusquely.

“Who’s in there?” asked Ron, burning with curiosity.

“Never you mind for now,” said Pomfrey. “What can I do for you two?”

“Er... headaches,” said Seamus shiftily.

“I see. And the two of you _both_ have headaches then,” The hint of a smirk hovered at the corner of Pomfrey’s lips. “Should I be worried that you have something contagious?”

“NO!” Ron blurted out, his eyes widening. “Just... er... erm...” 

“Hmm... _‘Er’_ can be quite dangerous if you’re not careful,” Pomfrey interjected. “Especially at your age. Let this be a lesson boys. Now wait right here and I’ll find some pain potions for you - and you’ll stay away from my other patient if you know what’s good for you.”

Ron and Seamus both gulped and stayed rooted in one spot while they waited, neither wishing to test Pomfrey’s temper. Moments later she returned, a satisfied look in her eye to see that they hadn’t moved. Pomfrey handed each groggy looking boy a vial.

“Right! Now down the hatch,” she said, watching as they downed the contents of their vials. “Very good! I strongly suggest you make sure to drink lots of water to flush your systems and rehydrate. ‘Er’ can be quite toxic in high quantities, and dehydrates the body - as Longbottom found out the hard way too ... Now shoo, so my other patient can have some peace and quiet.” 

Feeling much better, Ron and Seamus made their way to the Great Hall to discover that lunch was almost over and that many of the other students had departed to play in the snow or lounge in their common rooms. But Harry and Hermione were still there chatting to Fleur Delacour and a little girl who looked much like her and much too young to be a student.

Fleur glanced up to see Ron and Seamus approaching and smirked. Harry and Hermione turned to see who she was looking at.

“Hi guys!” said Harry, grinning. 

“Good afternoon Ron, Seamus,” said Hermione teasingly, her eyebrows raised. 

“Up so late - Why, I wonder?” said Fleur with a smirk and a look which suggested a rhetorical question. “Ze morning ees gone.” She noticed them peering questioningly at the young girl beside her. “My seester, Gabrielle. She and Maman - zey visit for the holidays - weel be here through New Year.” 

Fleur glanced at Harry and Hermione and rose gracefully from her seat. “Thank you! Gabrielle ees mos’ excited to meet you, but I theenk we go outside now, play in ze snow. Per’aps we see you again later.”

“Yeah, of course Fleur!” Harry smiled at Fleur’s younger sister. “You’re welcome to join us any time.”

“It was nice to meet you, Gabrielle,” Hermione beamed.

“Thank you, ‘Arry, ‘Ermione. Ees vairy nice meeting you also,” squeaked Gabrielle, blushing shyly as she stood up and took her sister’s hand.

As the Delacour sisters departed, Harry and Hermione waited patiently for Ron and Seamus to say something, as the latecomers were hastily piling bangers and mash on their plates before it vanished.

“So, Harry,” Ron tentatively began, his voice low, eyes darting around nervously, “Did you, er... see anything last night?”

“Whatever do you mean, Ron?” asked Harry, his face a picture of innocence. But Hermione got right to the point.

“You’re lucky Harry found you, you know!” she said with falsely prim tone, the look in her eye and the upward twitch at the corners of lips giving her away. “If Dean had gone upstairs first, I expect you wouldn’t hear the end of it from half the school - or at the very least from your brothers.” 

“Harry _told_ you?” Ron shot a wounded expression at his best friend. Seamus didn’t seem to care, being more concerned about his empty stomach as he dug into his lunch.

“I tell Hermione everything,” Harry retorted. “She’s my girlfriend. Besides, it’s perfectly safe, Hermione’s your friend - you know she wouldn’t say anything to anyone else.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough I suppose,” Ron agreed, shrugging as he forked a banger. “Hermione’s right anyway. Dean probably would’ve been laughing it up with Fred and George right now if he’d spotted us.”

“Anyway, that’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Harry, as eagerness crept in his voice. “We’ve got loads to tell you about last night. If you hadn’t been completely blotto, I would have told you already - you might have even been in on it, in fact...”

“Jusht get t’th’point, Harry,” Ron grumped through a mouthful of mashed potato and banger, feeling a bit cross that he’d apparently missed out on something. Hermione looked a bit green as a few bits of mash flew from his mouth.

“You know the Marauder’s Map,” Harry began, “I’ve been checking it out lately, and I saw something weird on it a few times, but I wasn’t sure what was really going on. Anyway, last night, I finally figured it out when I brought the Map to the Yule Ball - Professor Moody wasn’t really Moody... he was Barty Crouch _Junior,_ Barty Crouch’s son...”

As Harry launched into his explanation, with Hermione interjecting at intervals, they told Ron the whole story - minus Barty Crouch Senior’s involvement in his son’s escape from Azkaban which Dumbledore had asked them to refrain from discussing with anyone, having decided Crouch Senior had been punished enough for his mistake. Ron was rapt as he shoveled his lunch into his mouth at a rapid clip; even Seamus was listening intently.

“Blimey!” gasped Ron, when Harry and Hermione finished telling him everything. “Another bloody maniac involved with You-Know-Who was out to get you then.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, in a mildly haughty tone. “Which is why you shouldn’t have been so dismissive about Moody’s supposed paranoia about Dark Wizards when he was teaching us all about the Unforgivable Curses. Well, the fake Moody’s alleged ‘paranoia’ anyway - he apparently did a good enough impression of the real Moody to even fool Dumbledore. 

“Either way, he was absolutely right! After all, you know Vol...”

“Don’t say it,” hissed Ron. 

Harry struggled not roll his eyes, but Hermione rolled hers. 

“Fine! You-Know-Who then,” she snapped. “Anyway, you _know_ he and Wormtail are back in Britain, because Harry told us all about his vision. And apparently you forgot all about the Death Eaters terrorising everyone at the World Cup!”

Ron had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Yeah, I guess that was a bit stupid of me. I _did_ forget about the mayhem at the World Cup actually.”

Seamus shook his head and chortled. “How’d you manage that, Ron? You were right in the middle of it, weren’t ye? I’ll never forget that night - our tent was burnt to the ground, and me da was with me and Mum - special allowance for muggles married t'wizards, you know. We were just lucky those mad blokes in the masks didn’ know me da’s a muggle or they’d’ve probably cursed him.”

“Oh!” said Ron seriously, “You really are lucky then.”

“I’ll say!” Seamus sighed, suddenly serious himself. Then he dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “Anyway, I’m off to find Dean - see what he’s up to. Is it okay if I tell ‘im what’s goin’ on?” he asked Harry.

“I don’t see why not, really,” Harry replied, shrugging. “It’s not really going to be a big secret when the real Moody starts teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. And the Ministry probably knows all about it by now. Dumbledore told us the Aurors would be taking Crouch Junior into custody this morning. ... Just don’t tell anyone about my Map, or that Hermione and I were involved.”

“Righto! Cool! Thanks Harry,” said Seamus, looking a bit excited at having an amazing tale to tell.

“I think I’ll go find Neville and tell him too,” said Ron, looking just as eager as Seamus. “Unless _you_ were planning on telling him,” he added, with a sort of pleading and hopeful expression.

Harry supposed Ron wanted to be one of the first to spread the news, and reckoned Ron should have his moment in the sun. 

“No, that’s alright Ron! You can tell everyone if you want. Just remember to keep me and Hermione out of it.”

Ron beamed. “Thanks Harry! No problem!” Then Ron and Seamus dashed out of the Great Hall to tell everyone they knew. 

“That was really sweet of you, Harry,” said Hermione when they were gone. 

Harry grinned. “Well, thanks to you, I get Ron a bit better now. He needs the attention more than me. Anyway, I think I fancy a stroll in the snow myself. Maybe we can find a quiet spot away from everyone to just look at the lake and the mountains, and, erm...”

Hermione giggled. “That sounds very romantic, Harry.”

But just at that moment, a girl with spiky pink hair whom they had never seen before entered the Great Hall and peered around as if looking for someone. She grinned when she spotted Harry and Hermione.

“There you are! Been looking all over for you two...”


	10. The Guardian

Professor McGonagall departed from the headmaster’s office feeling disconcerted, not to mention perplexed, anxious, and more than a bit angry as well. After Nymphadora Tonks had been briefed on her task, Dumbledore and McGonagall had spoken at length; but her more discomfiting emotions were tempered by a measure of thankfulness that Dumbledore had confided in her, and no small measure of relief that Dumbledore was taking Harry Potter’s safety and well-being seriously.

McGonagall was also very pleased that things were coming along very nicely for Harry - better even than she had hoped for, in fact, when she had taken matters into her own hands regarding Harry’s partner for the Yule Ball. It had been the nudge that Potter and Granger had both needed to see that what they were looking for had been right in front of them the whole time.

McGonagall also couldn’t help thinking that Potter was better off for being a bit closer to Granger now, than when he had gravitated more towards Weasley. Weasley’s lackadaisical attitude towards schoolwork had been a bit of a bad influence on Potter, who - with the right motivation - generally showed more aptitude and inclination to learn than Weasley.

And now Potter, who had always been quite prodigious with his wandwork, was taking his study of magical theory more seriously as well - which would hopefully prove advantageous in surviving the dark trials he still faced ahead of him. And Granger had found that which she had been yearning for so long, something a bit more than books and “just friends” could provide - someone who truly respected her intellect and put her emotional needs ahead of certain others.

But McGonagall was still quite shaken by some of Dumbledore’s revelations - not the least of which was Severus Snape’s role in things. And she was also startled to learn that Sirius Black was in fact innocent, and that Peter Pettigrew had been the traitor all along - Wormtail as Barty Crouch Junior had referred to him last night. 

But most importantly, Voldemort’s obsession with Potter made much more sense now, as did Dumbledore’s otherwise dubious decision to place Potter with the sister of his mother. But the lengths the self appointed “Dark Lord” had taken to remain on this side of the veil were truly horrifying, and the implications that they held for Potter’s apparent connection to Voldemort chilled her to the marrow. 

McGonagall was determined to make every effort to help Dumbledore discover some means of ridding Potter of that disturbing link. Her thoughts turned again to Potter’s budding relationship with Granger, which seemed even more important than ever now...

**~o0o~**

“Er... Hi?” Harry peered at the girl in Gryffindor robes, perplexed.

“Do we know you?” asked Hermione, wondering if she was a sixth or seventh year practicing Advanced Transfiguration to disguise herself. “I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“Sorry,” said the pink haired girl as she sat down at the table, “I didn’t know you weren’t expecting me. Dumbledore didn’t say. I’m Tonks - Auror Tonks... but I’ll be undercover as a Teacher’s Assistant who’s just returned to Hogwarts after a few years - in trainin’ to be a Professor. ”

“Er... Excuse me for saying so, but aren’t you a bit young to be an Auror?” Hermione inquired, looking a bit skeptical.

Tonks chuckled. “That’s what everyone says. I’m older than I look. My seventh year ended just before your first - I’m twenty one - twenty two in January. ... And I was actually a Hufflepuff, but bein’ a Gryffindor will make it easier to hang out a bit with you two sometimes, and shadow you between classes and when you’re doin’ your own thing...”

“Wait, why would you be following us around?” asked Harry, frowning in suspicion. “We’re not in trouble with the Ministry are we?”

“Well, it’s more on Dumbledore’s orders really - Madam Bones is letting him ‘borrow’ me - sort of a joint operation I suppose. I’m your protection detail Harry, now that we know You-Know-‘Oo is back and tried to infiltrate Hogwarts to get at you. And because Hermione’s your girlfriend, she’s under protection too.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced at Hermione. 

A protection detail was the last thing he had expected. Harry supposed that Dumbledore had decided not to take any more chances after all of the trouble that seemed to find him every year. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having someone following him around all the time, invading his and Hermione’s privacy.

Tonks seemed to understand the look on his face, because her eyes darted around the Great Hall to make sure no-one was listening - and fortunately it was largely empty except for a couple of Ravenclaw stragglers on the other side of the Hall - then she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

“Don’t mind me too much, Harry, I’ll stay outta your hair as much as possible. And you should know, I’m Sirius’s cousin - well, second cousin... or first cousin once removed, or somethin’ like that - I can’t really keep that sorta thing straight past first cousins. My mum is actually Sirius’s first cousin. 

“Anyway, the upshot is that Sirius managed t’chat with Dumbledore via floo apparently, sometime late last night - I reckon ‘e must be staying somewhere that Dumbledore knows about - and Sirius is on board with this. The Ministry can’t know about that, for obvious reasons, him bein’ a fugitive an’ all still - not enough proof to get them off his back yet until Pettigrew actually shows his face. But I’ve been getting some letters from Sirius since the summer, and I know the truth, Harry.”

“You actually believe him then?” Harry was surprised, but he felt some relief, and a bit of excitement as well to know that not everyone believed that Sirius was a mass-murdering maniac. 

“Course I do!” said Tonks, sounding a bit wounded. “He was my favourite cousin when I was a kid - more like an uncle to me really. I never believed ‘e did it. I’ve always thought it was some sort of frame-up! He was the only one on the Black side of the family besides Mum who hated all that pureblood rubbish - my dad’s a muggleborn, see. So Sirius used to come over every once in a while to visit.” 

The more Harry listened, the more he liked Tonks. There was just something about Tonks which made him trust her; he supposed that in a way, she was more or less family, seeing as Sirius was his godfather.

“Anyway,” Tonks continued, “seein’ as I’ll be hanging out with you a bit, and I’m undercover, you probably should call me Dora instead o’ Tonks I suppose. The professors and the other Aurors know me of course, but it’s best not to let anyone else know ‘oo I really am, just in case.”

“Won’t some of the older students remember you though?” asked Hermione, looking slightly skeptical as she peered at Dora’s pink hair. “Especially the Hufflepuffs fifth year and older.” 

“Doubtful,” Dora replied, “I ‘ad longer hair and I didn’t colour it back then. I’m a metamorphmagus and I can change it whenever I like...”

Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“Oh,” gasped Hermione, “Harry’s one too... at least we think he might be...”

“All I’ve really done is change my hair a bit - without a wand,” said Harry, his excitement growing at meeting another metamorphmagus. “Once before Hogwarts - before I even knew I was a wizard, and once last night, just before the Yule Ball. ... I didn’t even know I could. It doesn’t usually look as short and neat as it does right now.” 

“Blimey!” Dora’s eyes boggled. “That’s amazing! We’re really rare. There’s only a couple others in the Auror Corps, and maybe only half a dozen more in all o’ Britain as far as I know. So let me see then...”

Harry concentrated really hard, trying to remember how it felt as he scrunched up his face, but nothing happened. He began to wonder if it had been a fluke.

“Don’t try so ‘ard,” said Dora, who could see Harry straining to make it happen. “Willpower is important, but it only works if you just kind of _let_ it happen instead o’ forcin’ it, if you know what I mean. It’s sorta in-between - so just picture it in your mind and relax a bit while you focus on it. Let your other thoughts just sorta swim around it instead o’ tryin’ to push them away.”

Relaxing had never really been Harry’s strong suit. But then he remembered his anti-Dementor training, and reckoned it might be a bit like that, thinking about something happy at the same time. Flying on his Firebolt - the sense of freedom when he was in the air - and kissing Hermione - letting everything go as he lost himself in her - popped into his mind while he pictured his hair going back to normal, and to his surprise, he felt his hair reverting back to its usual unruly state.

Dora grinned. “Wicked! That’s it Harry! You really _are_ a Metamorphmagus! ... I can help train you up a bit, if you’d like.” 

“Yeah!” said Harry eagerly, “I’d really like that! That would be brilliant!”

Dora suddenly peered around the Great Hall again, looking a bit anxious, but she relaxed when it appeared that the few Ravenclaws hadn’t noticed a thing.

“Alright then,” she said quietly. “But maybe just keep it to yourself for now. It’s probably best not to let too many people know you’re a Metamorphmagus. Change your hair back for now, and let it gradually go back to normal a little bit each day.”

Harry looked puzzled for a moment, then it hit him. “Oh!”

Hermione nodded, having come to the same conclusion. “Of course Harry! You’ll have an advantage that Voldemort and his followers won’t know about.”

“Yeah, and also anyone shady at the Ministry too for that matter,” Dora muttered. There’s some ‘oo are in bed with suspicious folk like Warlock Malfoy. I ‘eard from Shacklebolt this morning that the Minister was cutting him off, but there’s still some others. I also talked to Mad Eye just now while I was lookin’ for you two...”

“You mean Professor Moody?” asked Harry.

“How is he doing?” Hermione chimed in.

“Yeah,” Dora chuckled. “That’s him. He’ll be alright in a few days - a bit malnourished is about the worst of it. Anyway, he thinks someone at the Ministry instigated the Triwiz just to get at you to begin with, Harry. He reckons someone else probably entered your name _as well as_ Crouch Junior.”

“What? But that’s mad!” said Harry. “Why would anyone do that?

“If it’s someone at the Ministry who’s in league with Mr Malfoy, who knows how far they’d go, Harry?” said Hermione, looking very worried. “It could even be Ludo Bagman for all we know. He could have been bribed. ... He does gamble an awful lot, and if he owes a lot of money, he’d probably jump at the chance to get you in the tournament and sabotage you for a payday.”

“Of course!” Harry groaned; he should have known it wasn’t over. “So I’m not out of the woods yet! Whoever it is will probably make the tasks even harder for me...”

“Well, don’t worry too much Harry,” Dora reassured him. “If I know Mad Eye, he’ll be taking over your training once he’s recuperated. We’ll get you through this - we’ve all got your back. He wants to meet you when you get a chance - maybe tomorrow after he’s had some proper rest and been fed up a bit.”

“Good!” said Harry, scowling now. “Because I’ll need it if I’ve got two lots of people after me.”

Hermione frowned; Harry clearly needed a distraction. “Just forget about it for now, Harry. Let’s just try and enjoy the rest of the holidays before we start thinking about that. Why don’t we go for a walk, like you suggested earlier.”

“Yeah, alright Hermione,” Harry sighed. “Sounds like a plan. So, er... I suppose you’re going to be following us, Dora?”

Dora half-smirked, eyeing Harry and Hermione perceptively.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my distance - you’ll still be able to get up to, _things_. I won’t by spyin’ on you - I’ll just be nearby scoutin’ around, watching your backs and keeping an eye out for trouble. If anything, I’ll make sure nobody else disturbs you.”

Harry’s brain whirred, considering the advantages of having a secret guardian; if it had to be anyone, he was glad that Dumbledore had picked the one Auror who was practically family to shadow him and Hermione. 

“That sounds... alright, actually,” said Harry, giving Dora a wry smile. 

“Right then, I’ll let you be off to do your own thing for now then,” said Dora, “... Oh! Before I forget, there’s just one more piece o’ business to get out of the way. Your class schedule will be changing a bit, Harry - you’ll be in all the same classes as Hermione now, to make it easier to watch out for you both. Sorry about that, Harry - I know it’s a bit more work for you - it was all McGonagall’s idea.”

Harry was shocked. That meant he’d be taking Runes and Arithmancy now with Hermione. Though Harry had to concede that it just made sense to keep him and Hermione together. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t already been kicking himself for not choosing more challenging classes to begin with. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with Trelawney always predicting his imminent demise, as Hermione had ditched Divination last year.

After taking their leave of Dora, Harry and Hermione trudged for a bit through the snow, deep in thought as they made their way to find a spot away from the other students who were braving the cold to have snowball fights and build snowmen. They headed towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest near the lake, hand in hand.

Finally Hermione broke the silence. 

“I know it’s all a lot to take in Harry,” she said earnestly. “And if you’re worried about being a year and a half behind the rest of the fourth years in Runes and Arithmancy, don’t be. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will explain the situation to Professor Babbling and Professor Vector. And I’ll help you loads to try and catch up, I promise.”

“Honestly, I’m not too fussed,” said Harry. “You know it’s been bothering me lately that I hadn’t picked more challenging electives, after all. But yeah... I will need your help - especially in Arithmancy. I wasn’t awful in Maths in primary school, but I wasn’t great either. ... It was a bit rough for me to tell you the truth.

“I’ve more been thinking about Dora. She’s Sirius’s cousin - that means she’s more or less family to me, and I know the Weasleys have always treated me like family, but... er...”

“...you’ve always wanted a _real_ family - one which really belonged to you,” said Hermione gently, finishing Harry’s sentence for him as she gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “But you’re feeling a bit guilty because you think it might offend the Weasleys somehow.” 

“Yeah... Yeah, I think that’s it, Hermione,” said Harry, sounding slightly rueful. “It sounds a bit silly when you say it out loud, but I guess that is how I’m feeling. I mean... I know they’re not really going to mind - it’s not like they’d know how I feel inside anyway. But _I’d_ know, and there’s just... I felt some sort of connection to Dora which isn’t quite the same as I have with the Weasleys, more like how I feel about Sirius I suppose. And I’m not entirely sure why, considering I’ve just met her.”

“Meeting another Metamorphmagus who can help you figure out your power might have something to do with it as well, Harry,” Hermione suggested. “There really aren’t that many after all.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, there’s a bit of that too. Thanks for helping me sort that out Hermione.” 

Then Harry peered out across the lake from under the canopy of a copse of pines and knew they had found the perfect spot. The bed of pine needles on the ground was largely free of snow excepting near the lake and a few patches which had blown in. 

A thick layer of ice stretched out across the surface of the lake, breaking up in the distance as the edges neared the centre, the ripples of the water shimmering slightly in the pearly grey reflection of the clouds above. And the mountains across the lake reared like glittering glaciers against the sky, the base hidden by the snow-covered woods on the other side.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione murmured.

Harry and Hermione sat cross legged next to each other on the bed of pine needles, Hermione’s arm curled around his waist, his arm draped across her shoulders as they admired the spectacular view. Hermione let out a contented sigh, and eventually Harry’s lips met hers. The kiss was somehow deep and passionate yet gentle, echoing the ambiance of the peaceful setting, and time seemed to stop as the world stilled around them.

They had no idea how long they sat like that, arms around one another, their kisses warming them to the core. But it must have been awhile, because when they were finally ready to return to the castle, very few students were left outside as they traipsed back up the hill through the powdery drifts broken at intervals by deep furrows and trails of footprints. Harry caught a flash of pink hair not too far in the distance and grinned.


	11. A Midwinter Night's Dream

Hermione thought it best to leave it to Harry to explain things to Ron, hopefully avoiding triggering an outburst. She sat nearby in one of the cushioned armchairs, a book propped up in front of her face, half-listening as Harry quietly gave Ron the gist of things. 

Ron gawked at Harry, not quite sure that he had heard correctly.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you’re ditching Divination?”

“I didn’t really have a choice, Ron,” Harry retorted. “It was McGonagall’s idea apparently.”

“And you’ve got a bodyguard now?” The look in Ron’s eye suggested a bit more than incredulity. 

“Yeah! More or less... but not just for me - for Hermione as well.” 

“Bloody Hell!” Ron swore, scowling, tabling the issue of of Harry and Hermione’s secret personal escort for the moment, as he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. But there was one feeling he was certain of. 

“What am I going to do in Divination then?” Ron moaned. “We were supposed to be taking it together.”

“Well, it’s not going to be a piece of cake for me either, Ron,” said Harry, his frustration growing. “I’m certainly not going to miss Trelawney predicting my death all the time, but I’m stuck in _fourth_ year Ancient Runes and Arithmancy now - I’ll be a year and half behind everyone else. ... While they’re doing whatever, I’ll be starting from scratch - the only one in the classes who’s completely rubbish at them.”

“Oh!” Ron deflated like a punctured balloon; he hadn’t considered that angle. “That’s bollocksed mate,” he sighed, looking more sympathetic. “You’re right Harry. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

“Anyway, you’ll still have Neville in Divination,” Harry pointed out. “And I’ll still see you in all our other classes...” 

“Yeah, true enough,” Ron agreed. “But all that extra homework - you probably won’t have as much time to hang out after classes.”

Harry nodded, then shrugged resignedly. 

“Honestly, I’m not as fussed about the homework as I thought I would be,” Harry confessed. “I just wish I’d picked Runes and Arithmancy to begin with, instead of Divination. What with Vol...” Harry caught himself, not wanting to upset Ron even more, “...with _You-Know-Who_ after me nearly every year, I should’ve been more focused on learning as much magic as possible if I ever want to stand a chance against him and finish him permanently one day. ... He’s a bloody Evil Genius!”

“Suppose so,” said Ron, “I’m just glad _I’m_ not taking Runes and Arithmancy. Better you than me!”

Harry couldn’t help grinning at that. Hermione snorted, her rolling eyes hidden by the novel.

**~o0o~**

“Writing a book, are you Draco?” asked Zabini, raising his eyebrows. “Thought you might want to sort things out with Pansy, instead of wasting your time.”

“Mind your own business, Blaise!” snapped Draco.

“Suit yourself,” Zabini shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose if you don’t apologise to Pansy.” 

Draco scowled, seething as he continued penning a letter to his father. The Yule Ball had been an utter disaster, and it was all Potter’s fault. 

Potter had sowed the seeds of doubt in Pansy, who had told Daphne about Draco’s demands to get her nose fixed if she wanted to go to the Yule Ball with him; Daphne had then refused his generous offer to take her to the Ball “on a matter of principle,” standing by her friend, Pansy. And to top things off, Potter had humiliated Draco in front of that snooty French bitch. 

All this had followed on the heels of ruining the advantage that Snape had given Draco after his last letter to his father. Draco had hoped that he would be able to take the opportunity to ingratiate himself more with Krum, and undermine his friendship with Potter while Potter was too busy doing homework to spend any more time with the Durmstrang Champion.

Draco knew that Potter was involved in that somehow, perhaps his pet Mudblood too. They had got to Dumbledore, and of course that muggle-lover had favoured his golden boy, Potter. These humiliations and insults to Draco’s honour simply could not stand; he was a Pureblood, a Noble. Potter and the Mudblood should be groveling at his feet, if not six feet under. 

Draco had held out some hope that the Dragon - which his father had informed him of at the outset of the tournament - would either eat Potter or at least horribly burn and mutilate him. But Potter had somehow managed to get lucky again. Dumbledore must have used some sort of magic to give Potter an advantage; it was inconceivable that anyone could actually out-fly a Dragon - they were born to fly.

If his father had had something to do with rigging the tournament, as Draco suspected, then he had obviously failed. It was long past time to put an end to Potter and his Mudblood, and if his father’s apparent new schemes to finish them off after the Chamber of Secrets debacle continued to be thwarted, Draco might be forced to take matters into his own hands...

**~o0o~**

The next few days leading up to the New Year were by and large pleasantly filled with holiday spirit for Harry and Hermione, despite some trepidation regarding the possibility that the Triwizard Tournament had been rigged, and wondering what sort of mad scheme Voldemort would come up with next.

Dora had moved into spare teachers’ quarters in the corridor next to the entrance of Gryffindor tower, and had introduced herself as a new teacher’s assistant to most of the Gryffindors. Only Ron and Neville, and Lavender and Parvati knew of her real purpose, and had all agreed to keep it a secret. 

As Dora had indicated he might, the real Alastor Moody sent for Harry and Hermione on the third day of Christmas. It was a bit disconcerting to meet someone for the first time that they thought they knew. 

Moody’s magical eye swiveled to peer at them suspiciously when he cracked open the sturdy oak door of his private quarters after Dora knocked. Only after Dora turned her hair a shade of blue did he allow them all entrance. The real Moody looked a bit more haggard and worn than the fake Moody, but that was to be expected as he had been held captive at the bottom of his own trunk for several months.

Harry and Hermione both felt a bit anxious as they sat down with Dora on a sofa. The real Moody somehow seemed even more intimidating than the fake one. 

“So you’re Potter, obviously,” Moody growled, his eye briefly landing on Harry’s scar, “and you must be Granger. Dumbledore said it was the doing of you two which saved me. Can’t thank ye both enough, really!”

“Er... You’re welcome,” said Harry, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“Er... How are you feeling now?” Hermione nervously asked, her voice a bit squeaky as she unconsciously took Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly. 

“Much better, thanks,” said Moody gruffly. “Just a bit o’ wounded pride perhaps.” 

Moody’s magical eye darted back and forth between Harry and Hermione, as if sizing them up, and his features broke into an ugly grin.

“Hmm... seems Minerva was right about you two,” he chuckled. “Looks like you’re practically hitched already.”

Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously at Moody’s blunt remarks. Dora rolled her eyes.

“Oi! You promised you wouldn’t tease ‘em, Mad Eye,” Dora admonished the grizzled ex-Auror.

Moody grunted. “Just callin’ it as I see it, Tonks! ... Anyway, Potter, you’d best be prepared for some hard trainin’ come the beginning of the term. Gotta get ye whipped into shape - but we’ll have you ready to make Death Eaters eat death in no time, if Dumbledore’s right about you... Granger, you might as well join us, seein’ as you and Potter are attached at the hip.”

 _“Mad Eye!”_ Dora shot him a glare. Moody chuckled again.

“Right, I suppose I’ll let you two get on with the holidays,” said Moody. “You might as well enjoy the frivolity while it lasts. Mark my words though, fun and games will be over once term starts! And watch your backs - even with Tonks on guard, you’ll still need to keep yer eyes peeled. 

**“Constant Vigilance!”** he concluded with a bark. Dora rolled her eyes again.

Harry and Hermione both gulped; Hermione’s hand tightened around Harry’s even more.

“Y...yeah,” Harry stammered. “We’ll keep our eyes out.” 

“We will,” squeaked Hermione, nodding vigorously, “definitely!”

“Good! Make sure you do!” Moody grunted, looking satisfied. “Alright then, I’ll be seein’ you two around. Good t’meet you both.”

“Er... you too sir,” said Harry as he stood up to leave.

“Bye,” said Hermione.

Dora shook her head after shutting Moody’s door behind them, hearing half a dozen deadbolts click into place. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Dora, a slight smirk on her face. “‘E’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s alright really. Mad Eye’s a bit more wound up than usual, but I suppose you can’t really blame him after what he’s just been through. He’ll probably calm down a bit by the time term starts.”

“Well, he’s not wrong, really,” said Hermione. 

“Yeah, after everything that’s happened to me at Hogwarts, I probably _should_ be on the lookout more,” Harry agreed with a sigh.

“Look, Mad Eye may be right, but sometimes he goes a little overboard,” Dora reassured them. “Yeah, it’s good to be aware, but don’t let it eat you up if you wanna stay sane. From everything I’ve heard, you’re not doing so bad in that department - you did rumble the fake Moody after all...

“And don’t forget, I’ll be around - there’s a few other Aurors here too - and Dumbledore’s put up some extra security measures, including Polyjuice and Imperius checks on all visitors and staff members.”

“Oh!” Harry brightened up, relieved at hearing that piece of news. “That’s brilliant!”

**~o0o~**

The fourth day of Christmas was taken up in part with Harry and Hermione reading a couple of the science fiction books Hermione’s parents had sent her for Christmas. Then in the afternoon, Harry flew around a bit with Ron and the Weasley Twins. Viktor was off somewhere with Lavender - probably snogging, Harry reckoned.

Hermione was joined by Fleur and Gabrielle in the stands, all bundled up against the cold, conversing in French, in which Hermione was apparently quite fluent. Harry had been a bit surprised at first, then he remembered that Hermione had spent some holidays in France and Switzerland. 

Harry and Hermione even found a little time to do a bit of snogging themselves, and all in all it had been a great day. It wasn’t until nearly bedtime that Harry began to feel unsettled again, his scar itching and burning more intensely than it had in some months. 

“You alright Harry?” Neville asked, already in his pyjamas when Harry entered the dormitory, “You look a bit peaky.” 

“Harry seems alright to me,” said Ron who had been oblivious the past half-hour in the common room. Then he peered at Harry, squinting as if that would help him see better and shrugged. “Dunno if Neville’s right, but are you sure you’re okay Harry?” 

“I’m fine,” Harry fibbed, “Just a little twinge in my scar...”

**~o0o~**

Powdery white drifts piled up against the brick walls of the old manor house which was falling into disrepair as flurries of snow whipped around it, driven by a bitter wind which howled under the eaves. Very few people ever approached the manor, especially at night in the middle of winter, excepting the occasional youths who dared to see if it was as haunted as some folk claimed.

But there were no youths tonight, and if there had been, they would have no doubt fled in terror upon hearing the screams within. In a cobwebby upstairs drawing room with faded and peeling wallpaper, a rodent like man was screaming and writhing on the threadbare Persian rug.

“M...Master, I beg you! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Beg a little harder, Wormtail,” hissed a high, cold voice, “and I may forgive you!”

“P...please Master! How was I to prevent Crouch from being captured?”

The red arc of magic halted, and the oozing homunculus in the armchair set down his wand, his rage abating enough to consider his servant’s word.

“You have a point Wormtail,” the homunculus admitted. “It was Crouch’s own incompetence which led to his failure. And perhaps I was too trusting to believe that he was my most faithful servant. I shall not make that mistake again - are there no others who will do my bidding?”

Thankful that his master had ended the torture, Wormtail, shaking, scrambled to his knees and prostrated himself. 

“N...no Master! The Ministry has not yet released the information regarding your return - perhaps to avoid panic without more proof than that which Crouch may have provided. Many still believe you are dead, and those who suspect you may yet be alive are not willing to go against Dumbledore without clear evidence of your continued existence - my word would not be enough.

“B...but if you wish it, I... I will bring you Potter myself,” Wormtail offered tentatively, hoping it would be enough to stave off another furious outburst from his master.

The homunculus was silent for a moment, contemplating his options. Finally, he seemed to have reached a decision.

“No Wormtail, you are too valuable to me to risk on such a mission at Hogwarts while Dumbledore presides over it. I still need you to milk Nagini, and to perform the ritual. It may indeed have to be done with another, as you previously suggested.”

“M...Master?” Wormtail was incredulous, unable to believe his good fortune. Such words were high praise indeed, coming from his master. 

“I believe I may have misjudged you Wormtail. Wretched though you are, you have proved your worth to me, beyond those others who have forsaken their lord and master. You showed courage to seek me out when no others would. 

“Your foresight to kidnap a Ministry lackey was inspired, and your skill at performing the necessary ritual to craft this crude form for me to inhabit demonstrates at least a modicum of competence in the Dark Arts. 

“Continue to serve me well, and you may yet find yourself placed above the others when I have been restored. Those fools who have deserted me - they shall feel my wrath when they eventually return to my side.”

“Th...thank you Master, ... _Thank_ you! ... Your generosity knows no bounds,” Wormtail groveled obsequiously. “I will serve you well. I shall not disappoint you!”

“See that you do not, Wormtail.”

“What is your bidding now, Master? Shall I procure a replacement for the boy?”

“No!” the homunculus replied. “Not yet. We shall await the outcome of the Second Task, and see what comes of it. And in the meantime, perhaps we might find another who can slip past the increased security protocols at Hogwarts to bring me the boy. If not, then we shall move forward with a replacement...”

**~o0o~**

“Harry! Harry... Wake up!”

Harry finally managed to emerge from the dark sludge which clung to him like quicksand, threatening to pull him back down into unconsciousness, the worried faces of Ron and Neville hovering above him. Blinking, Harry was now wide awake, his heart racing, thudding against his ribcage, beads of cold sweat dripping from his brow, his scar on fire. His sheets and covers were a tangled mess, entwined around him, apparently from thrashing about in his sleep.

“Wh...what happened?” asked Harry, still feeling a bit confused.

“Blimey mate!” Ron burst out, “You were yelling in your sleep!”

“We couldn’t wake you though,” said Neville, who looked very shaken. “That must have been some nightmare.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Harry muttered. “It was real! I was there...”

“But you were asleep,” said Neville, looking bewildered. “You didn’t go anywhere.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” said Harry, feeling frustrated, not really sure how to explain it.

“Was it... was it like, you know, earlier this summer - that dream you eventually told me and Hermione about?” asked Ron.

“That wasn’t a dream either,” Harry answered, now certain of the truth. “I need to speak to Dumbledore - he needs to know.”

“But it’s the middle of the night,” Ron moaned, “You can’t...”

“There’s no way I can go back to sleep now,” Harry said insistently. “I have to tell him...”

“Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey,” Neville suggested. “She’ll have something to help you sleep, and you can see Dumbledore in the morning.”

“This can’t wait,” said Harry sharply as he clambered out of bed and put on his robe and slippers. “I’m going.”

“Do... do you want me to go with you?” asked Ron, his features earnest. 

Harry shook his head. “No! Thanks Ron, but I’ll be okay... I’m fine now! I just need to see Dumbledore while it’s still fresh in my mind - I don’t want to forget anything. You go back to sleep.”

“Alright, if you say so Harry.” 

Neville and Ron watched Harry exit the dorm and crawled back into their respective beds once Harry had departed. Harry padded down the stairs, wishing he could get up to the girls’ dorm to bring Hermione with him, and feeling a bit guilty that he hadn’t wanted to go with Ron. 

Then it came to Harry - Dora had told him to get her whenever he needed, day or night. She could go up to the girls’ dormitory and fetch Hermione for him. He slipped out through the portrait hole and approached the door of Dora’s quarters. Swallowing nervously, Harry began to have second thoughts about waking her in the dead of night.

Harry knocked before he could talk himself out of it. The door creaked open and Dora peeked out, her sleep clouded eyes widening when she saw who it was, instantly alert.

“What’s up Harry? What’s wrong?”

“Er...” Harry suddenly felt stupid and pathetic, not wanting to give her the impression that he’d just had some sort of nightmare and needed comforting. “Sorry to wake you, but I need to see Dumbledore - it’s really important. But... er... I was hoping you could get Hermione for me too.”

“No problem Harry,” said Dora, much to Harry’s surprise, having thought she might be reticent. “Wait right here and I’ll go get her.”

A few minutes later Dora reappeared with a yawning Hermione in her nightgown and slippers, much to the annoyance of the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

“In and out and in and out at this time of night,” the Fat Lady grumbled. “Make up your minds.”

“What’s going on Harry?” asked Hermione, her eyes full of concern. “Have you been having nightmares again?”

“It’s more than that,” Harry groaned, reddening as he glanced at Dora. Hermione caught on quickly.

“Oh!” she gasped, “Like your vision during the summer.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I’d wait till morning, but it could be hazy by then, and I don’t want to forget any important bits of information. And I, er... I just thought you should hear it firsthand too.”

“Right, come on then,” said Dora. “Let’s get you to Dumbledore’s office.”

The three of them traipsed through castle, and when they arrived, the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s tower was as annoyed as the Fat Lady to be awoken so late - or early, depending on whether one counted the wee hours of the morning as night or not.

The winding stone staircase carried the trio up to the oak door of Dumbledore’s office, where Dora grasped the brass door knocker and rapped three times. It took a few minutes, but Dumbledore finally appeared, wearing the long woolen nightgown that Harry recalled seeing in second year when Colin Creevey had been petrified and brought to the hospital wing late at night.

“Ah, Harry, Miss Granger, Tonks, do come in and make yourselves comfortable.” 

Dumbledore gestured to three well cushioned chintz armchairs which appeared out of thin air in front of his desk. As the Auror and the pair of students settled into the seats, Dumbledore took his own and waved his wand, conjuring a tray with three steaming mugs of cocoa and a plate of chocolate covered digestives. Fawkes ruffled his feathers, trilling expectantly, and Dumbledore tossed him one of the biscuits.

Once everyone had a mug in hand and had taken a sip of cocoa, the headmaster peered cannily over the top of his half-moon glasses. 

“Well, Harry - I presume that you are the one who called for this impromptu meeting, and that you have some important information to impart.”

“Yes sir,” Harry nodded, wishing he hadn’t when his scar throbbed. “I... er... I had another dream sort of vision, like I did during the summer. It was Voldemort and Wormtail, they’ve just found out that Crouch has been captured, and they’re making plans...”

Everyone listened intently while Harry recounted everything with as much detail as he could remember, which was far more than he had recalled during the summer, down to the cobwebs and the peeling wallpaper. When he had finished, Dumbledore steepled his fingers, looking disturbed.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said. “You did well to bring this to me as soon as possible, despite the late hour. Not only does this confirm the information we received from Crouch, but now we have a strong inkling of Voldemort’s plans for the near future.”

“I just wish I could figure out where they were,” Harry sighed. “Then we’d be able to stop them before Voldemort could regain a proper body and capture Wormtail.”

“Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed. He stroked his beard pensively as his piercing blue eyes gazed at Harry. “This connection you have, Harry...” he murmured. “Under the right circumstances, we could perhaps put it to great use. 

“...Putting that aside for now, we can revisit that later. In the meantime I think we need to have that talk I had promised you. There is much that I have kept from you, Harry - answers to the questions you asked at the end of your first year. I perhaps should have told you sooner - I think I may have been mistaken to withhold it from you for so long - and there are other things which I have gleaned during the years in between then and now.

“We shall discuss this further tomorrow, say over lunch here in my office?”

Harry’s eyes widened, as he felt a thrill of excitement. Finally, the answers he had been seeking so long were so near he could practically taste them. He shared a look with Hermione, who seemed as rapt as he was.

“Can I bring Hermione again?” he asked Professor Dumbledore.

“I don’t see why not,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he turned his head slightly to look at Dora, giving her a wink. “And I see no reason why you shouldn’t join us as well, Miss Tonks, given the situation at hand. ... Now, what say we finish our cocoas and return to bed?”

“Blimey!” Dora muttered on the way back to Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Hermione, her cheeks as pink as her hair, “ _Miss_ Tonks? Never thought I’d hear that again...”


	12. Revelations

It was the fifth day of Christmas - otherwise known as New Year’s Eve Eve (or New Year’s Double Eve as Fred and George had called it when announcing the party that evening in the common room). Harry was so wound up in anticipation of the upcoming chat with Dumbledore that he barely ate a thing at breakfast, managing to down only a buttery crumpet and a piece of bacon.

“Wha’zhup Harry?” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs and sausage. Hermione looked slightly sick, but bit her tongue for the sake of keeping the peace. 

“Er... I’m seeing Dumbledore later,” Harry replied vaguely. 

Neville gave Ron a little nudge. Ron caught Hermione’s poorly concealed look of disgust and hastily swallowed the rest of the food in his mouth before speaking again.

“You in some kind of trouble then?”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s not like that. Er... supposedly Dumbledore’s going to tell me some stuff - maybe stuff about V... You-Know-Who which has t’do with me, like the visions I keep having. Hermione and I are going to see him at lunchtime.”

“Hermione’s going with you too?” Ron frowned. 

“Why wouldn’t she?” said Neville, slightly puzzled. “She _is_ Harry’s girlfriend.”

“I know but... it’s just...” Ron trailed off, his ears turning pink. It suddenly struck Harry that Ron was starting to feel a bit left out of things, even though he’d been spending a lot more time with Neville these days anyway. 

“Er... Yeah. But I’ll tell you everything later - promise,” said Harry. “You too, Nev. I suppose you both ought to know, seeing as you two were the ones who had to put up with me the most last night.”

“Cool!” said Ron, brightening. “That’s alright then.”

“Thanks Harry.” Neville’s eyes widened a bit in surprise, but he seemed happy to be included. 

The rest of the morning wore on. As Harry was too agitated to sit still and finish the science fiction book he had been reading, Hermione suggested a walk in the snow. Finally it was lunch time; Harry and Hermione made their way to Dumbledore’s office with their “secret escort.”

“You may enter,” Dumbledore’s voice called out from within after Harry rapped the knocker on his door. 

Awaiting the threesome between the armchairs and Dumbledore’s desk was a mahogany coffee table set with three golden plates and crystal glasses beside each. On Dumbledore’s desk was a large stone basin with runes carved along the edge, from which emanated a silvery glow.

“By all means, order up what you will,” said Dumbledore warmly, “and we can begin whenever you feel so inclined.”

Harry hurriedly munched his way through a pork pie and some crisps, washing it down with some apple cider. Hermione and Dora took their time and were still eating when Harry peered eagerly at Dumbledore.

“Very well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eye, “I see that you are ready. Feel free to interrupt if you have any questions. First, some of what I am about to tell you should be kept in as small a circle as possible - for your ears alone - as it would not do for the information to inadvertently reach Voldemort’s ears. 

“Miss Granger is being allowed to share in this as she is so close to you, that I don’t doubt you would be hard-pressed to keep a secret from her. And Tonks is joining us, because not only is she your protection detail - and therefore needs to know what she may be possibly up against - but also because she has recently become a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, on the recommendation of your godfather Sirius, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alastor Moody. 

“And of course,” Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his piercing blue eyes, “I recall Miss Tonks quite fondly from her school days. ... Otherwise, Professor McGonagall is the only other person with whom I have entrusted with everything I know.

“What’s the Order of the Phoenix?” Harry asked, curious despite his desire to move on to the more important bits.

“For the time-being,” Dumbledore replied, “let it suffice that the Order of the Phoenix is an organisation of my creation to fight Voldemort which your father and mother belonged to, as did Sirius. Today, our focus will be on the questions you had asked at the end of first year, which also bear some relevance to the visions which have recently plagued you. As I recall, you asked me why Voldemort wanted to kill you...”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, nodding. “Eventually I worked out between what you told me, and what I remembered others telling me, that Voldemort’s going to keep coming back isn’t he? He means to keep coming back until he restores himself and finishes me off doesn’t he? And when he’s done that, he’s going to try and take Britain again...”

“Voldemort told me at the end of first year that he only killed my mother to get to me. And Hagrid once told me that something about me prevented Voldemort from killing me, and that Voldemort vanished after trying to kill me - but Hagrid also said there wasn’t enough human in him left to die completely... And I also remember Mr Ollivander telling me that my wand shared the same core as Voldemort’s - a phoenix feather.

“And my scar - which you and I talked about a bit already - it hurts when I’m near Voldemort, or when he feels something strongly. I know that means that somehow we’re connected, and I reckon that connection has something to do with why I sometimes have visions of what he’s up to.

“And I know that Voldemort chose me for a reason. He knows that there’s something about me that might finish him off for good - So one of us is going to have to kill the other eventually, aren’t we? It’s either him or me! ... All I really don’t know is why.”

“Very good, Harry,” Dumbledore nodded, looking quite impressed as his bushy eyebrows rose. “I must say that your intuitions and deductive skills have stood you well - as they have in previous years - in regards to the unique challenges which befall you...”

“Er... well I had loads of help from Hermione,” said Harry, turning a bit pink. “I doubt I would’ve made it this far without her. Ron helped a bit too of course.”

Hermione blushed in mid-bite of her ham and cucumber sandwich.

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “Which Professor McGonagall herself has taken note of - particularly in regards to Miss Granger. ... In any case, to begin answering your question, it is often wise to start at the... beginning. And it all started with a prophecy, as revealed by none other than our own Professor Trelawney in the midst of a job interview.

“I almost didn’t hire her, as by and large her abilities as a seer are... unreliable, to put it most kindly. She did however, fall into a trance during the interview, and produced a very real prophecy, cementing her position at Hogwarts...”

“That was her first Prophecy, wasn’t it...” Harry gasped, his eyes widening. “I remember, at the end of third year you said that the one she made about Wormtail rejoining Voldemort was only the second one she had ever done.”

“Quite so Harry,” Dumbledore agreed. “Now, before I reveal the Prophecy, I should say that Prophecies are a very dubious business, regardless of their reality as a phenomenon. The Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries is filled with Prophecies which never came to fruition. The fact is that there are too many variables which come into play as time slips ever into the future... 

“A single decision taken by one person, a single chance happenstance, a path not taken, may change everything. In your case however, certain factors came into play which make this particular Prophecy inevitable. And I thought it best for you to witness it firsthand...”

Dumbledore gestured towards the stone basin, and Hermione - who had since polished off her lunch - suddenly realised what it was.

“Is... is that a Pensieve?” she asked, perking up with great interest.

“Indeed so,” Dumbledore replied. “And it contains a copy of my memory of the event in question.”

Dumbledore prodded the misty substance swirling in the basin, from which the silvery glow emanated. A tall familiar figure draped in shawls and beads rose from the basin, her eyes magnified many times by her glasses. A harsh guttural voice quite unlike her usual dreamy tones issued from Trelawney’s mouth.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”_

Professor Dumbledore prodded the silvery mist once more, and the echo of Trelawney sank back into the basin.

“Well, Harry, there it is. Much of the Prophecy has already been fulfilled, and a good deal of it you yourself have simply deduced through the process of Reason - piecing together bits of information you have gleaned these past few years. 

“You are, of course, the one who was born as the seventh month dies. Your parents faced Voldemort three times and survived, though unfortunately they did not survive the fourth encounter. The other key identifier is that Voldemort marked you as his equal when you received that scar. 

“It was possible that the Prophecy referred to another, but when Voldemort chose to mark you instead of the other, he not only made the Prophecy inevitable, he also made it clear that you were the one the Prophecy referred to... the one who would vanquish the Dark Lord...”

“Hang on a minute,” Harry interjected, frowning in puzzlement, “I get all the other parts then, but I don’t have any power that Voldemort doesn’t know about! How can I? ... I’m only in fourth year, and he’s an evil genius that knows all kinds of magic - more than _I’ll_ ever know...”

“Ah, Harry, that is where you are wrong,” Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Yes, you are only in fourth year, and it is true that Voldemort has a vast store of magical knowledge at his disposal, and is also one of the most powerful sorcerers to have lived, but you do indeed possess a power greater than his, despite your youth and inexperience. 

“Have you not faced and thwarted Voldemort yourself, thrice already - as many times as your parents had before their final encounter? You could have only accomplished that if your magical power were indeed greater than his...”

“Maybe... I suppose,” said Harry doubtfully, “But a lot of it was luck - and like I said, with Hermione and Ron’s help. And according to what you told me in first year, I only survived Voldemort because of my mum, something to do with her love for me - I was only a baby... How could I have done anything then?”

“Well, Harry, that brings us to another point I was going to bring up - your mother’s sacrifice. By deliberately dying in your stead, when she could have stepped aside, she invoked an ancient magic which did indeed grant you certain protections against Voldemort - and that is indeed why you survived. And yes, that ancient magic could have only been invoked by love.

“However, it can only have been your power which vanquished Voldemort. Your power was so immense, that there was no body to recover, which is why most believe Voldemort to have died that night. When his Killing Curse struck you, it rebounded from the shield against him which your mother’s sacrifice provided, but _think_ , Harry - of what you have learned this year. When people die from a Killing Curse, their bodies remain, physically unscathed.

“Voldemort could not have exploded, taking half your parents’ house with him, by being struck with a mere rebounding Killing Curse. For Voldemort to have been vanquished so thoroughly, the magic could have only come from you, yourself. In your grief, even as an infant without comprehending the complete truth of the matter, you _must_ have produced an enormous outburst of so-called ‘accidental magic.’”

“You’re joking!” Harry gasped, openly gaping at Professor Dumbledore in amazement. He glanced at Hermione, who looked equally stunned.

“No Harry,” the headmaster retorted. “It is the only explanation which fits the facts of the matter.”

“But I’m not that powerful! I can’t be!”

“Your mother is not the only one who loved, Harry. You too possess that power - your immense ability to love is what fuels your magic. It is _that_ power which Voldemort cannot know - indeed it is anathema to him, that which he cannot abide. How do you think you managed to produce such a powerful Patronus in your third year? ...despite your upbringing, which I suspected might be a difficult one...”

“You don’t know the half of it...” Harry muttered, before catching himself and shutting his mouth.

Hermione frowned, thinking of all the things Harry had let slip over the years.

“Why _did_ you leave Harry with the Dursleys?” she asked the headmaster with some heat. “Did you know how horrible they were to him? They kept him locked in a cupboard under the stairs! They put bars on his window when he finally got a room! They didn’t feed him properly, and...”

“Hermione, drop it,” said Harry, flushing with embarrassment.

“No, I _won’t_ drop it!” Hermione said, jutting her jaw defiantly. “I’m sorry Harry, but if I’m right, I think your Aunt and Uncle used to hit you too!”

Harry said nothing, casting his eyes at the floor moodily, wishing now that he had been more careful not to let anything slip. It wasn’t something he liked talking about. Dora looked shocked.

Dumbledore was taken aback. He had known about the cupboard when the magic which addressed the Hogwarts envelopes had pinpointed Harry’s precise location. And when the follow-up envelopes had readdressed themselves to the upstairs bedroom, Dumbledore had taken some comfort in knowing that the Dursleys had been shamed into improving Harry’s living conditions. 

Dumbledore hadn’t expected Harry’s aunt and uncle to be enthusiastic about raising Lily’s son, but he had hoped that his Aunt had grown up enough to get past old grudges and at least treat Harry with a bare minimum of caring.

“Harry, is this true?” he asked softly. “Please look at me.”

With some difficulty, Harry raised his head and shrugged. “Er... I dunno - maybe a bit... every now and then. It’s alright, really.”

Hermione scowled crossly; she should have known that Harry would try to downplay his aunt and uncle’s treatment of him. 

Piercing blue eyes met iridescent green for a few moments; Harry felt a pricking at the back of his eyeballs. Dumbledore was shaken by what he saw - dodging blows from the fists of a purple faced monster, which more often found their mark than not - a frying pan barely missing Harry’s head...

“I am so sorry Harry,” he said quietly. “I did not know. ... But I should have! I should have looked in on you personally over the years and rectified the situation. ... I have no excuse for that, and no mere apology can ever make up for not doing so...”

“I should bloody think not!” Dora snapped, glaring at the headmaster. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Dumbledore thought for a moment, rubbing at a brow wrinkled with worry and no small amount of shame. His options were limited, especially now that Voldemort had returned to Britain, seeking once again to reconstitute himself and finish the job he had begun nearly fourteen years ago. There was only one solution which he could think of. 

“Harry, how would you feel about being able to use magic when you liked, at home to protect yourself - as long as you do not abuse it?”

“I’d rather not go back at all,” said Harry, perplexed and not quite sure where Dumbledore was going with this. “But if I have to go back, then yeah, that would be great! I think they’d back off a bit if they knew I could do magic at home. ... But the Ministry would never let me.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will present a problem,” said Dumbledore. “I believe that under the circumstances, Cornelius Fudge could easily be persuaded to order your emancipation on his authority as Minister. He certainly would not like to be known as the Minister who allowed the Boy-Who-Lived to be mistreated by his guardians.”

“D’you really mean it?” Harry asked eagerly, his features brightening as he goggled at the headmaster. “I could really do magic at home then? That would help loads when I’m doing summer homework too.”

“Yes! I do indeed mean it, Harry! I know it won’t make up for the past, but it should make your present and future much easier. As long as you follow the Statute of Secrecy laws in regards to other non-magicals, I think this is the best solution to the problem.

“You see Harry, I placed a protective enchantment upon you myself, which is based on the protections your mother imbued in you. As long as you reside under the same roof as the nearest blood relative of your mother - in this case your Aunt - Voldemort cannot touch you there. Nor can any followers of his who bear the Dark Mark.

“ _That_ is why I placed you with your Aunt. It was the strongest protection I could think of for you, never having suspected that you would need protection from your relatives.”

“I understand Professor,” said Harry, looking even more excited as the reality of being able to do magic whenever he liked began to sink in. “And it’s alright - I don’t care about having to live with Dursleys as long as I can do magic! That’ll be brilliant!”

Dumbledore glanced at Dora and Hermione, pleased to see that they were both somewhat mollified by the proposal.

“Very well, Harry. I will speak to Fudge, and you will have your emancipation by the New Year. ... Now, on to the next item we are to discuss - the connection with Voldemort, and what it all means. We are now nearing the part of the conversation which must not go beyond the walls of this office - excepting Professor McGonagall, who has counseled me on this matter.

“What about Ron, and maybe Neville - can I tell them?” asked Harry, looking concerned. “They sort of know a bit anyway... because I told them my nightmares were real.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard pensively, then nodded.

“You may reveal some of what we are about to discuss regarding your link then. However, I must ask that on the matter of horcruxes - which are related to your connection - that you keep the secret close. That, you cannot reveal, lest Voldemort discovers that I - that _we_ \- are aware of them.

“And in order to keep the secret of our awareness of the horcruxes from Voldemort, I believe it is time for you begin Occlumency and Legilimency lessons before Voldemort himself eventually discovers the connection between you both...”

Hermione gasped, shooting a look at Harry. She apparently knew exactly what Professor Dumbledore was talking about, but Harry didn’t.

“Er... what’s Occlumency and Legilimency?” Harry asked.

“They refer to what non-magicals often call ‘telepathy’ - for lack of a better word,” said Dumbledore. “With Occlumency, one can block one’s mind from being read, or invaded, and with Legilimency one can read someone else’s mind. Normally, this is done through eye contact, and can be performed either casually, simply by eye contact, or more forcefully, with a wand while maintaining eye contact.

“However, due to your link with Voldemort, you can see into his mind - receive his thoughts without eye contact...”

“But then Voldemort could see into my mind through the link too!” said Harry, looking horrified, suddenly not so sure he wanted to be able to see into Voldemort’s mind anymore.

“Yes! Quite so,” the headmaster replied with a nod. “However, it would appear that Voldemort has as yet not discovered the connection that you and he share. And he may not for the foreseeable future, until such a time as he is reconstituted and achieves his full powers. That is why the sooner you learn to block your mind, the better. 

“However, this connection has thus far proved very useful to us, and I believe we should take advantage of it while you still have it. We would not have known that Voldemort had returned to Britain until it was too late, without your ability to see his thoughts and sense his moods. That is why I will also be teaching you how to look into his mind. 

“Now, as to the connection itself - at first I was not certain how it had been formed, but as I learned more - especially when you discovered Tom Riddle’s diary - it became more clear to me what had likely happened to you when he first attacked you as an infant. ... 

“As it turns out, the diary is what is known as a horcrux - a means of preventing death by binding a piece of one’s soul to this plane of existence. A horcrux is created by splitting off a piece of one’s soul, placing it in a container - usually some sort of artifact - and sealing it in with the Darkest of magic. As long as the horcrux exists, the creator cannot die. The only way then to be certain of permanently killing the creator of the horcrux, is to destroy the container itself.

“Only through the most vile of acts, such as murder, can one split one’s soul...which is why most wizards would never dream of such a thing. ... And as I continued to ruminate upon how your link came to be, I was forced to conclude that Voldemort had created more than one horcrux, badly damaging his soul - weakening it to the point where it became unstable. 

“When his killing curse was deflected, it left you that scar, but when your outburst of magic caused him to explode, another piece of his unstable soul flew off from his own, and entered you through the scar, attaching itself to your soul...”

“Hang on,” said Harry, feeling a bit ill now at the thought of having a piece of Voldemort in him, “are you saying that _**I’m**_ a horcrux too then?”

“Bloody Hell!” swore Dora. “That’s an ‘orrible thought!” And from the look on Hermione’s face, it was clear that she thought so as well.

“Yes and no,” Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking as old and weary as his years. “In a sense, Harry, you are the horcrux Voldemort did not intend to make - a vessel which contains a piece of his soul. But, because Voldemort never performed the necessary magical rituals, you are not a _**completed**_ horcrux...” 

“Doesn’t that mean that Harry has to die then, before Voldemort can be killed?” Hermione squeaked, her breath quickening, feeling like she might hyperventilate; she gave Harry an anguished look with her pooling eyes and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

Harry swallowed, his anxiety skyrocketing. Dumbledore peered at him sadly over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“At first,” said Dumbledore, his voice cracking, “I refused to believe it! ... It seemed most unfair that you should be faced with such a terrible burden! But as time wore on, and I considered all the possibilities, it appeared that indeed it was the only option - and it may yet be so. 

“ _However,_ after consulting on the matter with Professor McGonagall, another potential option has come to light. ... I was reminded of that which makes your magic so special, Harry - your immense ability to love. 

“And thus, we have come full circle. It may be possible to eventually rid you of the piece of Voldemort which resides within by using your magic against it - and by allowing your flowering relationship with Miss Granger to flourish, unhindered, to strengthen your magic even further. Professor McGonagall and I are continuing to investigate this possibility, and we shall not rest until we have come up with a solution...”


	13. Dangerous Creatures

Hermione was sitting on a sofa in the common room reading another one of the books her mum and dad had sent her for Christmas while Harry took Ron and Neville up to their dormitory to fill them in on the bits he could tell them about his conversation with Dumbledore. She felt the cushions on the sofa giving way and peered over the top of the page to see Parvati and Lavender both looking at her.

“How’s Harry?” asked Lavender, peering at Hermione worriedly. “Is he alright then?”

“We were worried about him when Dora came up to get you last night,” said Parvati, her voice full of concern. “Is he having nightmares again? What did Professor Dumbledore say?”

Hermione glanced around the common room anxiously, then took a deep breath.

“Not here,” she said. “Let’s go up to the dorm, and I’ll tell you what I can. But you have to promise not to tell Fay or Sally-Anne, or anyone else really.”

“We promise,” said Parvati quickly.

Parvati and Lavender filed up the stairs behind Hermione to their dorm. Crookshanks gave a little meow when he saw them arrive, and jumped off Hermione’s bed to give them all space. Hermione yanked the curtains around her bed after they were all sitting cross-legged atop her covers, and began to quietly tell Lavender and Parvati a few of the bits which Dumbledore had said Harry could tell Ron and Neville.

“It’s not really _just_ nightmares,” Hermione began mysteriously. “Harry is actually having sort of visions of what Vol... I mean You-Know-Who - is up to...”

“It’s alright,” Parvati interjected bravely. “We don’t care if you say Voldemort’s name, do we Lavender?”

Lavnder looked slightly dubious, then nodded.

“Oh, alright then,” said Hermione, a bit surprised. “Anyway, there’s some sort of connection between Harry and Voldemort which has to do with Harry’s scar - and Harry can sometimes see what he’s up to, or sense what he’s feeling. And Harry had a vision last night of Voldemort scheming to come after him, again. 

“He’s already tried to have another one of his supporters infiltrate the tournament... But we found him out.”

Lavender gasped, shocked. “Is that who entered Harry’s name in the tournament? ...to try and get Harry killed?”

“More or less,” Hermione agreed, thinking it best to not go into too much detail. “Harry already told Ron and Neville about that bit, so it’s probably alright to tell you too,even though Dumbledore doesn’t want too many people to know about it at the moment.”

“Of course! It wouldn’t do to panic everyone,” said Parvati wisely, “like in second year, unless there is a big threat to the whole school again.”

“Right!” said Hermione. “Anyway, the upshot is that Voldemort is back, and the reason he keeps trying to go after Harry is because he’s afraid that Harry would be able to finish him off for good, eventually. So it’s likely Harry might have more scary visions...”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Lavender proffered. “Especially if it means that Harry will get a bit of warning in advance.”

“Dumbledore seems to think so,” said Hermione, feeling a pang of worry. “Unfortunately it also makes Harry’s scar hurt horribly whenever he senses Voldemort.”

“Oh! Poor Harry,” Parvati commiserated...

**~o0o~**

“Blimey Harry!” Ron exclaimed when Harry finished telling him and Neville as much as he felt he could. “So Dumbledore reckons this connection has something t’do with your scar, and that’s why you keep having these vision thingys of You-Know-Who then...”

“More or less,” Harry sighed. “Anyway, it’s probably best to keep this just between us for now.”

“Sure Harry,” said Neville. “No problem.”

**~o0o~**

It was the morning of New Year’s Eve and Draco was digging into his breakfast when his Eagle Owl, Abaddon, beat its great wings as it dropped a piece of mail into Draco’s porridge. Draco scowled.

“Oi... Watch it you bloody chicken,” he snapped at his owl, “or I’ll have you turned into dinner.”

Unable to restrain himself, Theodore Nott sniggered as Draco retrieved his dripping letter from his bowl of porridge and wiped it with a napkin. Draco shot him a glare.

“Sorry Draco! No need to get your knickers in a twist,” said Theo. “So who’s that from anyway?”

“If you _must_ know, it’s from Father,” Draco answered with a sneer. 

“No doubt an answer to your latest complaint.” Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes. “What - you think he’s going to set a date up for you for the Yule Ball and give you a Time-Turner?”

Theo chortled then quickly shut up when Draco glowered at him again. Draco rose from his seat at the Slytherin table and angrily marched across the Great Hall, leaving the rest of his breakfast behind and cursing under his breath. Blaise and Theo fell into a fit of laughter as soon as Draco was out of earshot.

Draco stormed through the castle and the dungeons until he reached the Slytherin common room. Flopping on one of the sofas by the fire, Draco finally opened his letter and began to read.

_Draco,_

_I understand your frustration, but you must have patience. There is only so much I can do about Potter and his pet Mudblood while Dumbledore remains as headmaster. Severus has informed me that Dumbledore is now looking over his shoulder, which limits his ability to rectify any slights against you in regards to Potter._

_That may be remedied by next year, but for now you will have to deal with Potter yourself - at least until the Second Task. I cannot tell you precisely what has been planned, but rest assured, I have spoken to the Senior Undersecretary and Bagman about upping the risk factor of the Second Task. It is doubtful that Potter will survive this time._

Draco snorted. The Second Task was nearly two months away, not to mention that Potter always seemed to get lucky somehow. He heard someone enter the common room and quickly chucked the letter into the fire...

**~o0o~**

New Year’s Day finally arrived, and the festivities almost (but not quite) put Christmas Day to shame. Of course nearly everyone slept in, having been up late at Fred and George’s New Year’s Eve bash, which had included a load of indoor non-lethal fireworks in the common room. Ron and Seamus weren’t the only ones visiting Madam Pomfrey that morning, though Neville had been much more cautious this time around.

Harry had eaten his last piece of bacon and Hermione her last piece of toast with marmalade, when Cedric approached them from the Hufflepuff table.

“Hey, Harry, er... can we chat for a moment?”

“Sure, no problem Cedric.” Harry glanced at Hermione. “I’ll be back in a minute, or we can meet up in the common room if you’d like.”

“I think the common room,” Hermione replied, smiling at Harry. “Then we can get our coats and go for a walk.”

“Right, see you in a few then.” Harry followed Hermione with his eyes as she left the Great Hall, then turned back to Cedric when Dora slipped out after her. “So, what’s up then?”

“Er... I’ve been meaning to catch up with you ever since the Yule Ball, but you’ve been a bit busy, and I can see why.” A little smirk crossed Cedric’s features. Harry turned slightly pink.

“Well, there’s been a lot of other stuff going on,” said Harry a bit defensively. “It’s not just, er...”

“...snogging?” Cedric finished for Harry, his eyebrows rising as his smirk broadened. “Anyway, that’s not really what I wanted to talk about. I was just wondering if you’d got that Golden Egg clue yet.”

Harry peered suspiciously at Cedric for a moment. He wondered if Cedric was angling for another tip. But then he reckoned that even if he was, then so what? 

“Yeah, actually I did,” said Harry, “a few weeks ago, before the Christmas Holidays.”

Oddly, Cedric looked disappointed. “Oh! I...er, was hoping I could pay you back for telling me about the Dragons. I figured it out a few days before Christmas, and I kind of owe you one.”

“No worries Cedric,” said Harry, grinning. “You don’t owe me a thing. I would’ve told you anyway - I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

“Yeah, well, I still feel kind of bad...” Cedric flushed. “I mean, I was a bit of a prat before you gave me that tip. And most of my friends were wearing those stupid badges.”

“Well, you weren’t quite as bad as others I could mention,” said Harry ruefully, rubbing at his scar, unable to help the memory of Ron’s attitude at the time which briefly crossed his mind. “We’re cool, Cedric.”

“Er... righto! See you round then...”

The rest of the Christmas Holidays flew by far too quickly. Of course Fred and George were going to throw another party on the twelfth day of Christmas, but Harry and Hermione begged off after finding out that it was Dora’s birthday, and had a small celebration in her quarters instead. They were thus far more rested for the first day of the new term than many of the other students.

Potions wasn’t brilliant as Draco and Snape both seemed to be shooting malevolent glares at Harry and Hermione, but otherwise Snape seemed to be avoiding them as much as possible, which Harry thought was a great improvement. Without the constant harassment, Harry managed to follow the instructions perfectly well. When he turned in a flawless potion at the end of class, Snape’s expression looked a bit constipated.

Everything seemed to be going alright until Care of Magical Creatures. Having completed their in-class Herbology assignment in good time, Harry and Hermione trudged through the thick snowdrifts and showed up a bit early for class. Seeing nobody else outside Hagrid’s cabin where Hagrid usually awaited the students, they went off looking for him.

“Maybe he’s by the paddocks,” Hermione suggested, shivering, as it had begun snowing again.

“Yeah, he’s probably got a Yeti,” said Harry wryly. “It’s certainly cold enough for one.”

“At least that would be an improvement over the Skrewts,” said Hermione.

“Dunno about that,” Harry chuckled. “Their flames might warm us up a bit.”

As they passed by the paddock which housed the gigantic winged horses which pulled the Beauxbatons carriage, there was still no sign of Hagrid. But something else caught their eye; tethered to a tree was a gleaming white Unicorn, its radiance making the snow look dingy in comparison.

“Oooh!” Hermione’s eyes widened. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah!” Harry croaked, choking up. The last time he had seen a Unicorn it had been lying dead on the forest floor, its silvery blood dripping from a wraith-like shadow’s maw; Harry had been soon to learn that the dark, cloaked figure hunched over the Unicorn’s corpse was actually a Voldemort possessed Quirrel. 

Harry was so overtaken by its beauty that he stepped towards the Unicorn, blinking back the unbidden tears; Hermione grabbed his hand.

“Harry, I’m not sure about this!” she squeaked anxiously, eyeing the Unicorn pawing nervously at the snow-covered ground with its golden hooves. “They don’t usually like boys...”

But Harry didn’t seem to hear as the compulsion drew him closer. The world had gone silent and for a moment it only seemed to contain him, Hermione, and the Unicorn. Falling snowflakes stilled and sparkled in midair, frozen in time as Harry bowed and reached out his hand. The Unicorn calmed and bowed its head in return.

Hermione gasped and beamed at Harry as he gently petted the Unicorn’s nose and stroked its silky white mane. Still holding Harry’s other hand, Hermione stroked the Unicorn too, feeling a strong urge to kiss Harry and ride off with him into the forest on its back. But just as she leaned closer to kiss him, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.

“...Now stay back boys,” an unfamiliar and brusque voice was saying. “Unicorns prefer a woman’s touch...”

“Why’s Potter touching it then?” sneered the very familiar voice of Malfoy.

The unfamiliar professor turned around and gasped, just as Harry and Hermione turned their heads see a sturdy looking witch with steely grey hair and a jutting chin. The professor stood perfectly still and held her breath, eyes wide with shock, afraid that she might break the spell and spook the Unicorn. As she watched the bushy haired girl and the tousle-headed boy both stroking the Unicorn, it suddenly registered with the professor that the irksome boy was Harry Potter.

“Who’re you?” asked Harry, frowning as he dropped the hand which had been stroking the Unicorn’s mane.

“Er... Professor Grubbly-Plank,” the stunned witch said, finding her voice. “And you must be Harry Potter!” 

“Yeah! That’s me! Where’s Hagrid?” Harry demanded. 

“He is indisposed,” was all Professor Grubbly-Plank seemed inclined to say. “Er... if you would, Mr Potter and...”

“Hermione Granger,” said Hermione.

“...Miss Granger, perhaps you and Mr Potter could step back and join us so that we can begin the class.” 

Harry joined the rest of the students with a glowing Hermione at his side. 

As she looked him over to see what could possibly account for the Unicorn’s unusual behaviour, Professor Grubbly-Plank noticed that there was something quite different about Harry Potter’s shining green eyes, something that seemed almost feminine. She snapped out of it with a shake of her head and returned to form 

“Right then class!” Grubbly-Plank said sharply, “Now, what you just saw was _**highly**_ unusual. If you value your lives boys, I highly recommend that you keep back! Unicorns can be quite dangerous towards males. Girls, please form a line...”

The girls all ooohed and aaahed over the Unicorn. Lavender and Parvati quivered with excitement. Even Pansy Parkinson was taken with its beauty, looking quite unlike her usual self with a smile on her face.

Malfoy snorted and glowered at Harry and Hermione. Draco felt a nearly overwhelming urge to ignore the Professor’s warning and have a go at touching the Unicorn. If Halfblood Potter and a Mudblood could do it, then he knew he could do it too. He was a Pureblood - a Noble - of course a Unicorn would accept him. But then he remembered his experience with the Hippogriff and thought better of it.

“Big Deal!” sneered Malfoy. “So you touched a Unicorn, Potter! ... Just proves how girly you are.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at Malfoy and smirked. “Yeah, maybe I am. So what?”

Draco felt a surge of bewilderment and anger, unable to conjure a response as Harry and Hermione turned and walked away. 

Ron and Neville waved them over, both goggling at Harry. 

“Blimey Harry! That was amazing. ... How’d you do that?” asked Ron.

“I’ve heard that Unicorns usually skewer guys with their horns,” said Neville. Seamus and Dean, who were standing behind Ron and Neville, peered at Harry questioningly.

“Dunno how I did it, really,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”

Hermione almost spoke up, but held her tongue, thinking better of embarrassing Harry by mentioning that it might have been his purity of heart. 

“Anyway,” said Harry, “do any of you know what happened to Hagrid?”

“It mighta had somethin’ t’do with this,” Seamus chimed in, passing Harry a _Daily Prophet_.

Hermione leaned in to read it with Harry and gasped with shock at the lurid headline.

“Bloody hell!” groaned Harry. Hermione scanned through the article quickly while Harry tried to keep up.

**DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE:**  
**HALFBREEDS AT HOGWARTS**

by Rita Skeeter

_It has recently come to light that Headmaster Dumbledore, long known for his controversial appointments, has engaged as the Care of Magical Creatures professor, an enormous brute of a man given to terrorising his students. Upon being apprised of this alarming news, this reporter and her crack team of researchers launched an investigation._

_To our horror, we discovered that the professor, who goes by the name of Rubeus Hagrid, is actually a half-giant, which would explain his violent behaviour and penchant for breeding dangerous creatures. One must wonder if Dumbledore’s encroaching senility would account for his turning a blind eye to the menacing monster, given to maiming and mutilating his students._

_“I nearly lost my arm after a hippogriff attacked me,” says the tearful, doe eyed young pupil, Draco Malfoy. “The school nurse had to reattach it - I couldn’t use it for weeks after. And my best friend, Vincent Crabbe, nearly lost a finger after a flobberworm bit him.”_

_And apparently, Rubeus Hagrid is also responsible for breeding the deadly Blast-Ended Skrewts, horrific demons, the mutant progeny of Manticores and Fire-crabs. Numerous students, far too many to count, have complained about third degree burns which have scarred them for life. Mr Hagrid’s insistence that these terrifying monsters were actually commissioned by the Triwizard Committee for the tournament is dubious at best._

_The discovery that Mr Hagrid is a half-giant, follows on the heels of Dumbledore’s appointment of the vicious werewolf, Remus J Lupin, to the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last year. This dangerous halfbreed is said to have mutilated and mangled several students, and parents have to wonder if the headmaster’s mental faculties are all there after his hiring of a Dark Creature to oversee the classes._

_Fortunately, after many parents complained, the Senior Undersecretary pushed legislation through the Wizengamot at the beginning of the summer banning the hiring of Werewolves. Bleeding Heart Advocates of those afflicted with Lycanthropy have promulgated the dubious claim that if Werewolves are not allowed to work, that they will be forced to seek out other, more deadly means of sustaining themselves, as if Werewolves were not already nightmarish monsters with a taste for for human flesh._

_What’s next? Perhaps the hiring of Centaurs - well known for their carnal appetites, sated only by the ravaging of young girls - as Divination professors? Given Dumbledore’s maniacal appointments, such may indeed be in the cards for the future of Hogwarts, soon to become a haven of depraved debauchery!_

“It’s all a pack of lies!” fumed Harry.

“So what if Hagrid is Half-Giant!?” Hermione snapped angrily, “It’s just bigotry... they can’t all be horrible - it’s just like the prejudice against Werewolves... Look how Skeeter goes on and on about Lupin as well - and he’s as sweet and mild-mannered as a lamb!”

Ron and Seamus looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief, unwilling to argue with Harry and Hermione, torn between their affection for Hagrid and their preconceptions about brutally savage Giants.

“How did that Skeeter cow find out anyway?” growled Harry, his blood boiling. “I thought she’d been banned from Hogwarts.”

Seamus, Ron, and Neville all shared a shifty look, as if not sure to reveal a secret. 

“Dunno,” Ron muttered awkwardly. “Seamus and Neville and me - we overheard Hagrid and Madame Maxime chatting a bit about their childhoods while we were... erm... getting smashed during the Yule Ball. I suppose Rita Skeeter could’ve heard too, but we didn’t see her anywhere.”

“Mebbe she’s got an Invisibility Cloak,” Seamus proffered with a shrug. 

Seeing the Gryffindors gathered around the newspaper, Malfoy swaggered onto the scene followed by his minions, gleeful to have something to throw in Harry’s face.

“Whatever! Skeeter’s just doing a public service! That should put an end to the Halfbreed Oaf’s teaching career...” sneered Malfoy, “I can’t see anyone wanting their kids to be taught by a savage giant - they’ll be worried that he’ll eat them. Haha...!”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered sycophantically.

“Shove off Malfoy!” snarled Ron. 

Smirking smugly, Malfoy and his thuggish companions departed the scene laughing. 

Bristling with outrage, Hermione waded through the snow to Hagrid’s cabin, an infuriated Harry by her side, Ron and Neville trailing behind. Harry knocked loudly on the door, to be met only by Fang barking and howling on the other side.

“Open up, Hagrid!” yelled Harry, “It’s us!”

“And we don’t care if you’re half-giant!” shouted Hermione.

But after five minutes of banging and shouting, there was still no sign of Hagrid...


	14. It's Complicated

The first week of the term was a horrible slog for Harry. It was bad enough that Hagrid was incommunicado and that Malfoy was quoting Skeeter’s horrid article at every opportunity just to rub it in; Harry also had to deal with the sniggers and the whispers from most of the fourth year Ravenclaws in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy (except for Parvati’s sister, Padma, who told Anthony Goldstein to bugger off and shut up when he whispered something rude about Harry in her ear). 

Hermione was the only other Gryffindor in their year who was taking either of the classes. Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass were the only Slytherins in Arithmancy, and Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones the only Hufflepuffs in Ancient Runes, but fortunately none of them were inclined to mock Harry behind his back for being a year and a half behind the rest of the class.

The piles of homework Babbling and Vector had given him on top of all of his homework for his regular classes didn’t help. After a few Arithmancy lessons, Harry felt utterly snowed under, his head spinning as he glowered at the pages of maths problems he was supposed to be solving while he sat by the fire in the common room with Hermione. 

“Blimey Hermione - this stuff is bloody complicated,” Harry grumbled. “I kind of get the basic idea of the solve for x and y or a and b stuff - that’s not so bad. But what’s up with quadratic equations? There’s too much stuff to solve for, and how can an equation have more than one right answer anyway?” 

“Well, don’t worry about the quadratic equations for now Harry,” Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile. “I doubt Professor Vector really expects you to be able to do those yet. She probably just sprinkled those in to give you an idea of what’s to come. 

“Normally, you’d start off with the basic Algebra in the Autumn term of third year, then move on to more advanced Algebra in the Winter and Spring terms, all while getting an overview of its application to Predictive Algorithms and Numerology...”

“Predictive what?”

“ _Algorithms_. Predictive Algorithms are all about predicting probable future events and patterns, and Numerology is about the numerical values associated with, well... everything really. Letters in words, names, dates of events, number of planets, physical attributes, etc. ... Put Predictive Algorithms and Numerology together and you have Arithmancy.”

Confused, Harry felt like slamming his head into the table, but he restrained himself, knowing that would be rather painful. But he did manage to get one idea out of what Hermione had just said.

“So it’s about telling the future, then? Isn’t that sort of like Divination?”

“No - not really!” Hermione’s tone was mildly haughty. “Divination is very woolly, and based more on intuition, yet it makes absolute claims about what is going to happen in the future. I suppose in the hands of seers with a strong natural talent it could be meaningful. But it’s fairly useless for most people. 

“Arithmancy on the other hand, is very precise, much more scientific, and in some applications it only speaks in terms of _probable_ outcomes based on evaluating past and current patterns and projecting them into the future. ... But it’s _**so**_ much more than that! Arithmancy also has applications in Alchemy, and in the creation of highly complex spells, and loads of other things.” 

“Bollocks!” Harry groaned. “It figures! Voldemort probably knows all this sort of stuff backwards and forwards, and I’m going to be totally rubbish at it!”

“You’ll be _fine_ , Harry,” Hermione reassured him. “You have a strong natural talent for magic, and your magic is very powerful, like Dumbledore said. In the end, that’s much more important when it comes to performing magic than knowing all there is to know about Arithmancy. 

“All that matters is that you manage to do reasonably well enough to pass - and I expect that you’ll eventually be much better than you think you will be. Anyway, that’s probably why Professor Vector is trying to cram regular and advanced Algebra into the Winter/Spring term for you - so you’ll eventually be able to catch up... maybe by this time next year, if I help you study over the summer...”

Harry felt his heart give a little flutter. “Er... summer?” 

“Yes, I’ll be able to visit you at your Aunt and Uncle’s won’t I? ... Now that you’re allowed to do magic whenever you need to, they probably won’t be inclined to say no.” Hermione peered at Harry earnestly. “I can come on the Knight Bus once a week - I was going to anyway so we could spend some time together, but I’ll be able to help you study too. 

“And then after your birthday, you can go anywhere you want, right? You could stay with the Weasleys and I’ll visit you there. Or...” Hermione paused and bit her lip, looking hopeful, fluttering her eyelashes shyly. “Or you could hire a room at the Leaky Cauldron - I’d be able to see you nearly every day then. My parents... we live in London, near Hampstead Heath.”

Harry grinned. Summer! He was going to see Hermione over the summer.

“Yeah!” said Harry quietly, his green eyes shining. “Yeah, that sounds great!”

**~o0o~**

Ancient Runes actually turned out to be much more fun than Harry had thought it would be. He wasn’t any good at translating Runes - though Harry reckoned that probably wouldn’t be so hard once he actually learned it - but apparently he took to the calligraphy and carving like a fish to water, even though he’d never really done anything artistic before.

In fact, Harry did so well at copying out runes with his ink brushes that, much to his embarrassment, Professor Babbling held up his third assignment to the class as being an example of the sort of attention to detail she expected to see from her fourth year students. Red-faced though he was, Harry took some satisfaction in Anthony Goldstein’s jealous scowl.

The rest of Harry’s time was taken up with Beginning Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore (thankfully, Hermione had been eager to join in), the extra training sessions for the Triwizard Tournament with Professor Moody, and the Metamorphmagus lessons with Dora (which Hermione had also decided to sit in on, even though she couldn’t be a Metamorphmagus herself).

The lessons Harry most looked forward to were Dora’s, brief though they were; he might have looked forward to Professor Moody’s more, but at the moment, Moody seemed keen on drilling Harry and Hermione like an Army sergeant. Moody had magically vanished the desks and conjured up a mat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and the first week had been all about calisthenics and teaching them how to fight. The only bright spot was that Dora was assisting Moody in the training.

Sweaty and sore after the first session, Harry and Hermione collapsed miserably on the mat, moaning in pain. Every muscle and joint in their bodies hurt.

“I thought this was going to be all about stunning spells and that sort of stuff,” Harry groaned, looking up at Moody from the floor. 

“Get used to it, Potter,” the battle-hardened ex-Auror growled. “The wizard who dodges faster and lasts longer in a fight is the one who wins, and there’s nothin’ better than Muggle fightin’ techniques to throw a wizard off his game in close quarters. Anyway, that was nothin’... it’s only gonna get harder and we’ve gotta toughen you up a bit. 

“Good thing you’re a quidditch player, or you’d be in a lot worse shape,” Moody added with a grunt. “And Granger’s not too shabby either, all things considered. But I want you two t’keep up with the calisthenics on your own for at least half an hour every day. Do that and we’ll have ye fitter than Hercules in no time.” Then Moody took one last look at them with his spinning eyeball, shook his head, and lurched out of the classroom chuckling.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Dora muttered, helping Hermione up as Harry staggered to his feet. “Mad Eye seems to think he’s still runnin’ the Auror Training Boot Camp.” Then Dora retrieved two vials of potion from her bag and handed one each to Harry and Hermione. “I knew ‘e’d be a bear about it, so I cadged some of these from Pomfrey - pain potions. You shouldn’t need ‘em after a few weeks once you get used to it.”

“Thank you, Dora,” said Hermione, downing the contents of her vial.

“What she said,” said Harry gratefully, taking a swig from his own vial. It didn’t take long for the first tingles of relief to surge and the aches began to subside.

“How’s that then? Feelin’ better yet?” asked Dora.

“Loads!” said Harry, grinning and feeling slightly giddy.

The end of the first full week of the term finally arrived, and for the first time ever, Harry had never been happier for a day off which didn’t include quidditch. Saturday was a Hogsmeade day; Harry and Hermione decided to make a date of it. All bundled up warmly in coats and scarves, they traipsed down to the village through the snow with Dora; Ron and Neville trailing behind them.

Harry waved at Viktor who was perched on the end of a gangplank in his swimming trunks, preparing to dive into the lake.

“Blimey! He’s off his nut,” said Ron, gawking.

“He’s probably using warming charms,” Harry opined, thinking that he really ought to start practicing swimming again if he could find the time. And he and Hermione still hadn’t come up with a way to breathe underwater yet, despite pillaging the school library.

Once they had arrived in the village, Harry and Hermione made a beeline for the bookstore. Neville and Ron browsed for a moment, then left Harry and Hermione to it and headed off to Zonko’s which was much less boring as far as Ron was concerned. 

Harry and Hermione looked in every book they could think of for something which might help Harry breathe while Dora browsed through the comic section of the newsstand. Spying a familiar looking book, Hermione lifted it from the shelf and flicked through the pages. Her eyes widened.

“Harry, look at this,” she said excitedly, “I think I’ve found something.”

“What’s that then?” asked Harry.

“It’s the book the fake Moody gave Neville: _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean_. Here, look...” Hermione held up the book open to the page for Harry to see.

“Gillyweed! Huh!” said Harry, his eyebrows popping up. “Excellent! That should work - gills...”

“...and flippers too,” Hermione interjected, her expression pensive, “But the time - you’d have to be sure to take just the right amount to last an hour. If it wears off too soon... Hmm, that gives me an idea though...”

“What? ... What’re you thinking Hermione.” 

“Well, I _was_ thinking, what if you could use your metamorph powers for gills and flippers? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about taking too little or too much gillyweed. Your training with Dora is going quite well - in a few weeks you might be able to pull it off.”

“Really?” Harry goggled at Hermione. “You think that could work?”

“I think so Harry. But we can ask Dora and see what she thinks.”

“Don’t see why not,” said Dora when Hermione asked her if it was possible. “You can do just about anything except change completely into an animal - you’d need to be an Animagus or use a wand and a transfiguration spell for that.”

“Brilliant!” said Harry, grinning. “Bung the book in the basket then, Hermione. I’ll need to study the effects of gillyweed properly if I want to mimic them.”

After purchasing the book, Harry and Hermione waited for Dora to pay for the stack of comics she had collected. She blushed slightly when she saw Harry and Hermione both peering at her rather large pile.

“What’re you two lookin’ at? You’re never too old for comics.”

“Never said you were,” said Harry, his face a picture of innocence.

The next stop was the village apothecary where Harry picked up a supply of Gillyweed to practice with. Following that, they looked through the whole village for Hagrid - even in Wizco, the Wizard Supermarket - but he was nowhere to be found. Along the way they passed Madam Puddifoot’s where they spied Lavender and Viktor through the window, and they paid a visit to Zonko’s and Honeyduke’s, finally ending up in the Three Broomsticks for lunch. 

Dora faded into the background to give Harry and Hermione some space, and took a seat at the bar, scanning the Pub for any potential threats. She spotted Bagman with a load of surly looking goblins at a table in the corner and rolled her eyes. 

Harry scoured the Pub looking for Ron and Neville, but only saw Luna and Ginny sitting together and waving him and Hermione over.

“If you’re looking for Ron and Neville, you just missed them,” said Ginny. “They were finishing up lunch when we got here, just before you did.”

“But you’re welcome to sit with us if you’d like,” Luna offered, beaming brightly.. 

Harry gave Hermione a questioning look. “Hermione?” 

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” said Hermione, pulling out a chair. “Thank you.”

Harry was just about to plant himself in a chair too when he felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned around, surprised to see Ludo Bagman grinning at him.

“Ah Harry, d’you have a moment?” 

“Er...”

“Splendid!” said Bagman, taking Harry’s “Er,” for a yes. 

He steered Harry towards the furthest end of the bar, away from everyone else. Dora frowned, her eyes never once leaving Bagman. 

“So, er, what’s this all about?” asked Harry, feeling bewildered and unnerved. It seemed strange that Bagman was here in Hogsmeade when there was no Triwizard event scheduled.

“Just thought further congratulations regarding the Dragon were in order, Harry,” said Bagman, cagily glancing back at the goblins. “A most ingenious performance, I must say.”

“Er... thank you?” said Harry, still feeling puzzled; surely Bagman hadn’t dragged him away from his date just to congratulate him again. Ludo Bagman’s shifty blue eyes darted around, then he leaned in uncomfortably close and lowered his voice.

“Actually Harry, I was just curious, how’re you getting on with that Egg, then? Need any help with the clue?”

“Er... isn’t that against the rules? I thought we were supposed to work them out for ourselves,” Harry answered, more perplexed than ever.

“Ah, well, er... I feel a bit bad about all this, Harry ... I know you didn’t ask to be in the tournament after all ... just reckoned you could use all the help you could get to give you a fair shot ... you know, considering how much older the other champions are and all that.”

“Oh,” said Harry, suddenly certain that there was something Bagman wasn’t telling him. “I’m alright. I’ve got it worked out already, thanks!”

“I see...” Bagman looked strangely disappointed. “Right then, good luck Harry.” 

Bagman gave Harry a pat on the back and returned to the table with the Goblins. They all leaned in and spoke in hushed tones. Several Goblins cracked their knuckles and scowled menacingly at Harry as he made his way back to the table with Hermione, Luna, and Ginny.

“What was that all about?” asked Hermione, frowning.

“I’m not sure really,” Harry replied. “Bagman wanted to know if I’d worked out the Egg clue and offered to help me with it - which is kind of weird, considering, er... you know what...” 

“That doesn’t seem very fair,” said Luna.

“It’s not,” Harry agreed. “But there’s something a bit more to it. Bagman kept looking at the Goblins and seemed a bit out of sorts when I said I’d figured it out already.”

“Hmm... I wonder, Harry...” Hermione bit her lip as the gears in her brain began spinning. “This seems to be another piece of evidence indicating that Bagman is involved, though he could be working with _more_ than just someone at the Ministry or Malfoy as we surmised he might be. He could be working with some Goblins as well - especially if he owed them money. He might have been trying to see how much you know and set you up for the Second Task.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ginny, looking very puzzled as this was the first she had heard about any of this. 

“Well, Ludo Bagman’s one of the Tournament organisers,” Hermione answered, looking very concerned. “And Professor Moody seems to think that someone at the Ministry had planned all along to get Harry into the Triwizard Tournament to do him in or discredit him. So we think that Bagman is probably involved, as he was one of the only ones with access to the Goblet of Fire.

“But if Bagman and the Goblins are gambling on the outcome of the Triwizard events, he could _also_ be trying to rig the Tasks so they can all make a lot of money. There’s a good chance that Bagman was hoping to steer Harry in the wrong direction about the Egg clue and bet against him in the Second Task. 

“It’s loads easier to fix someone to lose than it is to fix them to win... Shady sports promoters do it all the time in the muggle world - especially if they’re associated with gangsters. Sometimes they sabotage the athletes, or even bribe them to take a fall.”

“Hang on,” said Harry, his eyes widening, picturing Ludo with a gang of mobsters like those on television crime shows. “so you think he might actually be working with those Goblins _as well as_ with someone else at the Ministry or Malfoy to do me in?”

“Yes! It seems very likely.” 

“So that’s _**three**_ lots of people probably working against me, and Bagman’s dealing with _two_ of them. ... Blimey this is getting complicated! ... But if anyone looks like a load of gangsters, those Goblins sure do.”

“Probably,” Hermione nodded. “Anyway, I expect that’s also one of the reasons why you ended up with the Hungarian Horntail for the First Task, Harry. After all, it’s the worst of the lot - the largest, most vicious Dragon on the planet.”

Harry groaned. “Yeah, that all seems to fit - facing any sort of Dragon was bad enough considering I’m only in fourth year, but of course I _had_ to get the Horntail! I was beginning to think the universe just had it out for me...” 

“Maybe it does,” Ginny sighed. “Look...”

“Oh no!” Hermione moaned. 

Harry turned around to see who had just entered the pub and stiffened; the muscles in his jaw started to twitch as his stomach began to churn with anger. He would recognise those brassy curls, scarlet fingernails and lips, and bejeweled spectacles anywhere.

“Skeeter,” he hissed. 

As if on cue, Rita Skeeter made a beeline towards the table wearing a toothy crocodile grin. The blinding flash of a camera bulb went off and everyone at the table was seeing spots.

“My, my, what a scrumptious little gathering...” Rita Skeeter devoured the scene with hungry eyes. “So, Harry, care to tell the _Daily Prophet’s_ readers how you and your paramour came to share the companionship of two more delightful young girls?”

“Sure! They’re called _friends!”_ Harry retorted, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of those! _Hagrid’s_ my friend too! ... Is that how you get your kicks? ...ruining people’s lives?”

Skeeter’s eyes narrowed, her smile stiffening. “Just looking after the public’s interest, deary. People have a right to know!”

“Right to know what?” shouted Harry. “So what if Hagrid’s half-giant? He wouldn’t hurt a fly - and Lupin wouldn’t either. But you wouldn’t know about that because you’d rather print lies!”

“And what public interest are you serving by following us around everywhere taking our pictures all the time?” Hermione snapped. “You horrid woman! Why won’t you just leave us all alone?”

The entire tavern went very quiet as they watched the altercation unfold. Bagman and the Goblins took advantage of the distraction to slip out of the back door unnoticed.

“Now, now, you silly little girl.” Skeeter’s voice turned icy. “You have no idea. ... If you think Harry’s story belongs to him, then you certainly don’t know how the fame thing works!” 

“Harry never asked to be famous!” Hermione was livid now. “You have no right...”

“I have every right,” Skeeter snapped. “It’s called freedom of the press...”

“Freedom to lie, you mean,” Harry snorted.

“I think I’ve had enough of arguing with children.” Skeeter huffed, gesturing at her photographer. “Come Bozo, we’ve got plenty for now.” Skeeter shot Harry and Hermione a nasty looking smirk as she turned to stalk off, sending a little shiver up Harry’s spine. 

As she turned to leave, Rita Skeeter stumbled and fell to the floor with a shriek. She peered angrily at her broken scarlet fingernail. Skeeter’s photographer helped her to her feet and she whirled around, glowering at Harry Potter and his little friends, looking for signs of a wand.

Harry looked back at Rita innocently and she stormed out of the pub. Tonks winked at Harry from the bar and surreptitiously slid her wand back into the sleeve of her parka.

“Sorry about all that,” Harry sighed, peering apologetically at Luna and Ginny. “I can’t seem to avoid attracting attention...”

“It’s not your fault Harry,” said Ginny. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“Rita Skeeter’s horrible!” said Luna matter-of-factly. “Daddy says she makes stuff up all the time because she works for a secret department of the Ministry to make the Ministry’s enemies look bad.”

Neither Harry nor Hermione knew what to make of that. It didn’t seem as unlikely as it sounded, considering that apparently Bagman and mysterious others associated with Ministry were plotting against Harry. 

Lunch was a bit subdued, but despite feeling slightly better with tummies full of fish and chips and butterbeers, Hermione was still furious. She looked as angry as Harry had ever seen her as they trudged back up to the castle with Dora, perhaps as enraged as the time Hermione had broken Malfoy’s nose. Harry was still cross too, but his anger was tempered by his feelings of guilt for having drawn Skeeter’s attention.

Hermione had had enough. She marched through the piles of snow up to Hagrid’s cabin and began hammering on the door with both of her gloved little fists. Icicles fell from the eaves as the hut shook and Fang barked from the other side.

 **“HAGRID!”** she bellowed. **“COME OUT! ... WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! ... WE DON’T CARE IF YOUR MUM WAS A GIANTESS! WE’RE YOUR FRIENDS! ... YOU CAN’T LET THAT LOATHESOME WOMAN DO THIS TO YOU! GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW AND STAND UP FOR YOURSELF...”**

The door of Hagrid’s cabin swung open with a creak and Hermione tumbled backwards into Harry’s arms, shock and embarrassment all over her face at the sight of Dumbledore’s serene features gazing down at her...


	15. Taken By Surprise

In a deep cavern, seated around a long wooden table, several Goblins argued noisily, banging their fists on the table to punctuate their points, while the other Goblins took hefty swigs of frothy Goblin Ale from their tankards and chuckled.

The cavern wasn’t a nasty, slimy, wet cavern filled with wriggling worms and burrowing beetles, but it wasn’t exactly a comfortable Hobbit Hole either. It was the main hall of a Goblin Warren, and that meant hard, but clean, smoothed surfaces carved from the stone walls and floor. Highly polished stalagmites and stalactites posed as pillars, glittering in the flickering light of the burning torches and candles.

Intricately detailed murals and pictures were etched into the stone walls, and the wooden table and chairs, rigid though they were, were masterfully sculpted. The tankards which held the ale, and the platters piled high with seared wild boar shanks, roasted potatoes, and boiled beets were made of ornately engraved and delicately moulded spun silver, belying the rough-hewn manners of the Goblin Artisans who had crafted them. 

The arguing Goblins didn’t notice when an enormous, fat, jowly Goblin entered the cavern, accompanied by two bodyguards and a slender, sly looking Goblin with spectacles and a goatee, but those drinking ale hastily set their tankards on the table.

“Hem...hem,” the sly looking Goblin coughed to get everyone’s attention. The quarreling Goblins immediately shut up.

“Sorry Chief Bloodaxe!” muttered the one closest to the head of the long table. The rotund Goblin commandingly tugged at the lapels of his finely tailored business suit and narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t care!” Chief Bloodaxe grunted coldly. “I just want to know what Bagman has to say for himself, Grimnut. According to Accountant Gutripper, we lost 10,000 galleons on the First Task...”

“Ten thousand and nineteen galleons, eleven sickles, and six knuts, to be precise...” the goateed accountant interjected, trailing off and gulping when Chief Bloodaxe glared at him. 

“Anyone else care to interrupt?” The Chief snarled, his lips curling savagely. 

The bodyguards to either side of Chief Bloodaxe leered menacingly as if they were hoping that someone would interrupt the boss, flexing their spindly fingers as they gripped their black market, muggle-made machine guns. The cavern was silent. 

“Thought not!” Chief Bloodaxe snapped. “Now back to business,” he growled, “Potter tied for first place in the First Task! He wasn’t even supposed to get past second. What went wrong? And how does Bagman intend to fix it?”

“According to Bagman, the Champions were tipped off that the First Task was Dragons and they had a chance to prepare,” said Grimnut quickly. “Potter still got the Horntail like Bagman promised, and Bagman sabotaged the chain binding Potter’s Dragon as well, but as you know, Potter managed to obtain his broom and out-fly the beast...”

There were a number of raised eyebrows around the table. 

“Still can’t figure out how Potter pulled _that_ off,” grumbled another Goblin. “Shouldn’t be possible to out-fly a Dragon - especially not a Horntail...”

“Bagman suspects that one of the Dark Lord’s former supporters might’ve had a hand in that, Skullcrusher,” Grimnut proffered in response. “Apparently, one had infiltrated the tournament disguised as a former Auror subbing as a professor. He was apprehended over the Christmas Holidays - but the whole thing is being kept hushed up by the Ministry. 

“Anyway, Bagman thinks that the supporter somehow slipped the Dragon a Mickey to make it easier for Potter to win...”

“That doesn’t make any bloody sense!” exclaimed Skullcrusher as he scratched his head. “Why would a Dark Lord supporter be trying to _help_ Potter?”

“Beats me!” Grimnut shrugged. “Bagman got his info from the Senior Undersecretary, but he’s pretty sure she’s holding out on him. He didn’t press her on the issue though, ‘cause for the time-being she’s on board with Bagman on upping the ante for the Second Task. 

“Seems she’s got a beef with Potter too, and she gave Bagman the go ahead to throw something extra at Potter - maybe Kelpies or a Sea Serpent. Bagman’s still working on that, so we should be better situated now that the Dark Lord’s former supporter is out of the picture..”

“ _Should_ be?” hissed Chief Bloodaxe, grinding his sharp, pointy teeth. “I don’t want _‘should be!’_ I need a guarantee that Potter won’t come anywhere near close to first place this time! See to it yourself, Grimnut - don’t leave it up to those Ministry idiots to bungle things again! Potter needs to go down by any means necessary, even if you have to take him out.”

“Y...yes, Chief!” Grimnut stammered nervously. “No problem! I’m all over it...”

**~o0o~**

Following Hagrid’s tearful agreement to return to work, Harry found himself flat on his back in the snow, the recipient of Hermione’s heated affections. Hermione’s burning kisses kept him toasty warm even as the snow began falling again, and he returned to the castle with a big soppy grin all over his face.

Both feeling much better about things, Sunday began with a few hours of studying with very little prodding by Hermione, eager as Harry was to catch up, followed by an afternoon which included an hour of flying with Viktor, a game of Exploding Snap with Ron and Neville, and a bit more snogging with Hermione (this time in the boathouse). 

The second week of the term was no less busy than the first, but it was a bit less arduous as Harry began to settle into his new schedule. It was during Runes, when Professor Babbling assigned Harry to read up on using Runes to ward against fire, and write a foot of parchment for homework, that Harry found himself considering that he probably should learn a Rune sequence to ward against freezing to death in the icy cold water of the Black Lake during the Second Task. Another thought popped into his head - a memory really - of a brief conversation between Hermione and Professor Babbling during the Yule Ball.

“Psst... Hermione,” he whispered, looking up from his book. Hermione stopped what she was doing, working out the Rune sequence to ward homes and furniture against termites.

“What’s up, Harry?” she murmured back. “Do you need help with the translation?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I was just thinking about the Second Task. Didn’t you do a paper about warding boats against Water Sprites and Water Demons back in December?”

“Oh, yes I did!” said Hermione, her eyes lighting up with sudden comprehension. “Are you wondering...?”

“...whether they would work on people?” Harry nodded. “Yeah, I was.”

“Well,” Hermione bit her lip, frowning pensively as she considered the question. “I suppose they might actually, though they would need some adjustments to the sequences to work on living beings - humans specifically - rather than wooden boats. I’d be happy to work some out for you.”

“Brilliant!” Harry grinned. “Then I can practice tattooing them on myself...”

“We’ll have to consider all the most likely creatures you’ll find in the lake, of course - besides the Merpeople - though I don’t think Runes would work against them, not that it would be very likely that you would need Runes against them. There are sure to be Grindylows, though Water Sprites are possible I suppose...”

“What about Kappa, or Sea Serpents or Kelpies?” asked Harry.

“Kappa are very unlikely to be found in the Black Lake as they’re Japanese Water Demons - in any case, there are no Norse or Gaelic Runes to counter Kappa.” Hermione pointed out. “As to Sea Serpents or Kelpies, neither are native to the Black Lake, which is good as they’re _extremely_ dangerous.”

“But what if the Triwizard Committee add some in, just to make things more difficult?” 

Hermione paled, her eyes widening with shock. 

“Oh _no!”_ she gasped. “You’re right Harry. I doubt the Committee would _officially_ allow it, but with Bagman involved... I’ll look into it right away. If I can’t find any Runes for Kelpies, you might have to learn a Placement Charm - though you’d need a bridle - that could be a problem...” Hermione trailed off and began searching her book bag.

Harry swallowed anxiously and returned to reading his book, _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. Unable to concentrate now on the fire warding Runes, Harry flipped ahead to find the cold warding Runes. He frowned when he found them, reckoning it might take a few days at least to master them. 

Harry had been hoping to use them instead of a Warming Charm, as Professor Moody had said he could return to swimming daily in lieu of regular Calisthenics; but Warming Charms tended to wear off and needed redoing several times during a swim session. Hermione knew cold warding Runes already of course, but she had never practiced inking Runes on a person before.

Resigned to the situation, Harry went on with the rest of his classes with Hermione, which ended with Care of Magical Creatures. Happily, Hagrid was back and he was continuing the lessons with Unicorns. 

“I hope yeh were all payin’ attention ter Grubbly-Plank... she’s right on the mark abou’ how dangerous the adult Unicorns can be to mos’ lads,” Hagrid said cheerfully. 

“They migh’ not have fangs...” he added, looking vaguely disappointed, “but they c’n still take care o’ themselves with their horns. Right deadly they can be if yer not careful,” Hagrid concluded, brightening up again.

“Anyway, got sump’n special fer yeh today,” he continued, “Brought yeh a couple o’ Unicorn foals, an’ they might let yeh touch ‘em too lads ...if yer real quiet an’ calm like.”

Parvati and Lavender squeaked happily, and even Pansy Parkinson couldn’t conceal her delight when she saw the foals. 

“Oooh, they’re so sweet,” said Pansy, sounding most unlike her usual self.

Taking first turn with one of the foals, Lavender and Parvati made little cooing sounds as they stroked its silky golden coat and mane. 

Hermione beamed at Harry, feeling a surge of elation as they petted the other foal together. The foal nuzzled them both, nibbling at the shiny red apple which Hagrid had given them as he was passing them around to the class. 

Following Lavender and Parvati, Neville and Ron took a turn. Neville was besotted with foal, practically cradling it in his arms, but Ron hung back a bit, giving it a couple of tentative gentle pats as he warily eyed the baby Unicorn’s mother, who was giving Ron an equally wary look. Dean cautiously approached when Ron stepped back to hang out with Seamus.

Spying the mother Unicorn nearby, Harry thought he ought to say hello again, and went to give it a pet, leaving Hermione to it. Hermione knew she ought to get up and give Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson a turn, but she wasn’t quite ready to just yet. 

Daphne gave Pansy a little nudge and whispered something in her ear. Pansy shot her a dubious look. Hermione thought she heard Daphne say something like, “...she won’t bite,” and saw her give Pansy a little push. Pansy rolled her eyes, muttering, _“fine,”_ under her breath. She approached Hermione and the foal a bit stiffly.

“Er, do you mind?” Pansy asked, sounding a bit nervous as she knelt down to pet the foal. 

“Oh! Of course not. I’m sorry,” said Hermione as she started to get up. 

“It’s okay,” said Pansy, heaving a sigh and glancing back at Daphne who was giving her a thumbs up and nodding, “You don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione, taken by surprise.

“Yeah,” Pansy nodded as she ran her fingers through the Unicorn’s mane. She hesitated, looking a bit sheepish, then continued. “Er, I... erm, I know I‘ve always been pretty horrible to you, and I know you might not believe it, but I’m really sorry, Hermione! For everything! ... Daphne and I, well, we’ve, er... we’ve sort of been rethinking things a bit lately. We reckon you and Potter... er... aren’t so bad really.”

 _“What?”_ Hermione gaped in astonishment, not quite sure that she was hearing right. Pansy reddened.

“Honestly,” said Pansy, “it was when Potter made that comment about liking you just the way you are, and said he was sorry that Draco wanted me to get a nose-job that got me thinking. I know Potter was just getting in a dig at Draco, but it... it was _**true!**_ Draco _did_ want me to get a nose-job to go to the Ball with him - and I was _going_ to until Potter said that. 

“I... er... I think you’re pretty lucky to have Potter as a boyfriend - he treats you right. Daphne thinks so too. ... Zabini’s about the only guy in our year in Slytherin who has any manners at all - he and Daphne are dating now - and we all think that Draco is a knob. ... It made us rethink some, er... _other_ things as well...” Pansy trailed off, leaving the “other things” undefined, her cheeks taking on an even deeper shade of red bordering on scarlet as she bit her lower lip. 

“Er... Wow!” said Hermione, still shocked, not sure what else to say; Pansy’s meaning was all too clear, “That’s, er... erm...”

Pansy pursed her lips in a little half-smile, 

“Yeah! I know - weird, right? Anyway, Daphne and I just wanted you to know that we’ll be laying off you from now on, okay.”

“Thank you, Pansy,” said Hermione, finally pulling herself together; she warmly returned Pansy’s smile. “I hope the other Slytherins don’t give you too hard of a time for talking to me.”

Pansy snorted. “They can all go stuff their heads in a toilet if they don’t like it, for all I care,” she said, rising to her feet; Hermione stood up as well. “Anyway, maybe we can talk again some time... Hermione.”

“That would be lovely,” said Hermione, beaming as she and Pansy moved out of the way to give Daphne and Blaise Zabini a chance to pet the Unicorn foal. “How about next weekend? Harry and I are quite busy during the week at the moment...”

Draco stood a distance away, fuming as he watched the scene unfold. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing - Pansy and Granger, chumming it up like they were best friends? What the hell was happening? 

It was the last straw! Furious, Draco scowled to see Potter stroking the adult Unicorn’s nose again after watching the foal eating out of the palm of his and Granger’s hands. Putting all thoughts aside about the “girlyness” of Unicorns, Draco marched up to take a turn with the Unicorn foal which Blaise and Daphne were petting. The foal squealed when Draco drew near. Daphne and Blaise looked up to see what had upset the foal; Blaise shot Draco a look of warning. Ignoring Blaise’s look and the foal’s squeals, Draco kept approaching. 

The adult Unicorn snorted in alarm and strained at its bond at the sound of distress coming from one of its young. Alarmed, Harry stopped petting the Unicorn and turned to see what was going on. At that very moment, the tether snapped and the Unicorn charged at Draco, whinnying angrily, kicking up clouds of snow as it thundered towards him. Draco’s face paled - eyes wide with terror, he ran for it, shrieking like an infant with a wet nappy. 

Hagrid nearly panicked when the row caught his attention, but panic quickly turned to outrage. His beard bristling with fury, Hagrid lunged for the galloping Unicorn, muttering “Bloody idiot’s gone an’ done it again,” under his breath. Hagrid only barely managed to catch it in time before it skewered Malfoy with its spiral horn.

Many of the other students began laughing as Hagrid shut the cross Unicorn in the paddock. Draco shot Greengrass and Zabini a malevolent glare, certain that they had spooked the foal. Zabini responded with a smirk and flipped the bird at Draco. 

“Bloody Rhinoceros!” Draco spat venomously, eyeing the Unicorn which Hagrid was still trying to calm down. “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go... I’m done with this! We’re dropping this stupid class...”

Hagrid looked cheered, and a smattering of applause broke out among the Gryffindors at Malfoy’s proclamation. Though a few were mildly disappointed.

“Shame Hagrid caught it,” sighed Ron, a wistful expression on his face as he imagined Malfoy impaled and gored by the Unicorn. 

Seamus sniggered and Neville nodded, laughing his head off and gasping for breath as he clutched a stitch in his side. Harry and Dean chortled gleefully. Even Hermione couldn’t help giggling, though she was quite thankful that Hagrid had caught the Unicorn, as she was sure that he wouldn’t be able to avoid being sacked this time if he hadn’t.

**~o0o~**

After classes had finished for the day, still cheerful, Harry stood with Hermione - in dark blue swimming trunks and a one-piece lilac swimsuit respectively - near the edge of the ice shelf nearly twenty metres from the shore, shivering, before they cast Warming Charms on each other.

Dora kept watch, bundled up cozily in her parka, not envying Harry and Hermione as they both dove into the lake. Seated on a conjured matt to protect her bum from being frozen to the ice, Dora was startled when a familiar figure gracefully glided towards her. She peered at the platinum haired beauty, her cheeks growing hotter and her heart beginning to race when the figure tugged off her robes, revealing a skintight, powder blue wetsuit.

“Er, H...hi!” Dora stammered, growing flustered as she hadn’t really met the other girl properly yet, having only seen her from a distance while keeping an eye on Harry and Hermione. “It’s Fleur, innit?” 

“Oui!” Fleur beamed radiantly, taking note of Dora’s blushes. “And you are Dora, are you not? ‘Arry and ‘Ermione, zey speak vairy kindly of you.”

“Er... They do?”

“Oui, zey do,” said Fleur, batting her eyelashes coquettishly as she returned Dora’s gaze with an appraising look of her own. “I mus’ practice sweeming, now zat ze Second Task grows nearer. I theenk to accompany ‘Arry an’ ‘Ermione. ... Per’aps you join us next time, Non?” Fleur concluded, her tone meaningful.

Dora swallowed nervously, goggling in surprise. 

“Er, me?” she squeaked. “Really?”

Fleur licked her lips as if they were dry. “Mm... I am theenking per’aps I would like to get to know you better.” 

“Er... Yeah! Alright then,” said Dora, feeling a rush of giddiness. “Sure thing Fleur!”

As she tucked her hair into a powder blue swim cap, Fleur gave Dora another little smile, then sauntered slinkily to the edge of the ice and dove into the lake. 

A lopsided grin on her face, still not quite believing what had just happened, Dora watched Fleur swim out to meet Harry and Hermione. Suddenly, swimming in the middle of a half-frozen lake in the middle of winter didn’t sound so bad...


	16. No Rest for the Weary (or the Wicked)

Hermione could often sense when something was bothering Harry; he would get that brooding, distant look in his eye. It had become even more apparent since he had started taking his schoolwork more seriously, as he was much less likely to let his attention drift these days as it was doing right now, unless he was disturbed about something.

And she wasn’t quite sure why Harry was disturbed after what had been a generally pleasant day over all - even training with Moody and Dora was starting to become easier - well, not so much easier as slightly less painful - now that they had started practicing stunning and shielding spells too. The other fourth year Gryffindor boys had departed from the common room and headed up to their dormitory after having another good laugh about Malfoy being chased by the Unicorn, and Parvati and Lavender had said goodnight and retired to the girls’ dorms shortly after that.

Gradually, the common room had emptied as the older Gryffindors set off for bed as well, eventually leaving Hermione alone with Harry, both of them with their heads in books, bathed in the warm orange glow of the dying embers in the fireplace. Hermione kept taking little peeks at Harry, her frown growing deeper; finally, unable to take the lack of communication anymore, she sighed.

“Harry?”

Silence!

“Harry, are you alright? What’s wrong?” The distress in Hermione’s voice seemed to finally trigger a reaction. 

“Huh? What?” Harry looked up from his book, peering at her with concern. “Me? I’m fine! What about you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. “Harry! You’ve been staring at the same page of your Runes book for the last hour. What’s going on with you?”

Harry flushed and averted his eyes. From his hesitation, Hermione surmised that whatever was bothering Harry had something to do with her.

“ _Please_ Harry! Whatever’s wrong, we can work it out as long as we talk about it.”

Harry sighed, letting his book fall in his lap, and rubbed at his scar with an anguished look as if it were paining him badly. For a moment Hermione wondered if Harry was sensing Voldemort again and simply didn’t want to alarm her. 

“It was something Fleur said while were swimming this afternoon,” Harry finally said, as if each word were being pulled out by force. “... something about her sister, Gabrielle...”

“Something didn’t happen to Gabrielle, did it? Surely Fleur would have mentioned it to me too?”

“No,” said Harry quickly. “Nothing like that, Hermione. It was just an offhand comment about how she’d miss Gabrielle more than anything in the world - that’s why Fleur’s mum has been letting Gabrielle stay here with Fleur since Christmas. It...it just made me think... about that Mermaid song - that bit about _‘what you’ll sorely miss’_...

“Maybe we’ve been thinking about it all wrong because the song says _‘what.’_ ... But what if it’s not really a thing or an object like my Firebolt after all? What if it’s really a _‘who’?_ ... There’s nothing in the world I’d miss more than you, Hermione! I don’t think I could bear it if something happened to you at the bottom of the lake!”

Hermione felt her heart flutter at Harry’s earnest, tormented declaration. Biting her lip, she reached out her hand and caressed his clammy cheek. 

“Oh Harry! Even if they do take me - and I expect you’re probably right - I’m sure I’d be okay with the Merpeople. The Ministry wouldn’t have made an arrangement with them if they thought the Merpeople would harm any ‘hostages.’ ... They’d be more likely to protect whoever they ‘take’ than anything. 

“The risk of International Incident would be far too high if a non-participant got injured. I’m much more worried about you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Harry skeptically. “But even if the Merpeople do try to protect the hostages, something could go wrong. I mean, blimey Hermione, if Bagman or whoever tosses a load of Sea Serpents and Kelpies in the lake, _anything_ could happen!”

“That’s a fair point,” Hermione admitted ruefully. “Still, if it makes you feel any better, at least Professor Moody is training me to fight too, and he’s not exactly teaching us to play by normal dueling rules, is he?”

“True,” Harry agreed half-heartedly. “It’s more like he’s training us for war, really.” 

“Exactly! And if you’re worried about me breathing underwater, Harry, I can just use the Bubblehead Charm that Fleur told us about today if I need to.”

“I still don’t like it,” Harry grumbled, looking as agitated as ever. 

Hermione could see by the look in his eyes that Harry would probably be awake worrying all night, now that he’d got a hold of the idea of her being “held captive” underwater. Even if Hermione hadn’t been roused by Harry’s impassioned declaration of her importance to him, she could only think of one way to help him keep his nightmares at bay.

“And I wouldn’t expect you to,” Hermione murmured, leaning in, the hand on Harry’s cheek sliding to the back of his neck. 

Harry’s breathing grew more ragged as her lips drew nearer to his. When they finally met, the kiss was at first gentle, almost tentative, but Hermione knew it was working when she felt Harry relaxing, his arms curling around her waist. The kiss deepened, grew more heated, and Harry fell back on the sofa, Hermione atop him running her fingers through his messy black hair...

**~o0o~**

“Blimey!” Harry muttered, suddenly wide awake when he realised where he was and who was with him and what time it was.

Hermione was still cradled in his arms, sprawled on top of him, her tawny curls spilling over his shoulder and her own arms wrapped around Harry. It was nearly six in the morning and they were still entwined, having fallen asleep together on the sofa. Hermione stirred when she felt Harry shifting beneath her. She smiled sleepily at him and blushed, fluttering her eyelashes shyly.

“‘Morning Harry. Feeling better?”

“Loads!” he replied with a grin. 

But then Harry began turning pink when he realised that he needed a cold shower, and that Hermione could probably tell as well. In fact, Hermione looked as if she were trying to restrain herself from nervously giggling as she gave him a quick peck on the lips and sat up, her own cheeks growing rosier by the moment. 

“Er... gotta go change,” said Harry quickly. 

His grin turned into an embarrassed grimace and he fled up the stairs to his dormitory, his face hotly blazing. Quietly, Harry crept in, thankful that everyone was still asleep. He grabbed a fresh set of clothes and slipped silently into the bathroom. By the time he had showered and changed, Ron was waking up.

“Where were you last night?” asked Ron, eyeing Harry suspiciously. Harry gulped.

“Er, fell asleep in the common room. ... Studying,” Harry fibbed, reckoning it wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Oh, I see! _Studying_ with Hermione, eh?” Ron raised his eyebrows and smirked a bit, clearly not believing a word of what Harry was saying. 

“Shut up!” Turning beet-red, Harry grabbed a pillow from his bed and flung it at Ron.

“Hah! Knew it!” Ron grinned.

“What’s going on?” Neville mumbled as he roused from his slumber.

“Nothing!” Harry snapped irritably.

“If by nothing you mean shagging Hermione in the common room after everyone else went to bed!” Ron chortled, dodging the second pillow that Harry threw at him.

“I _wasn’t_...” Harry began to shout.

“Joking mate! ... I’m just joking,” said Ron in a wounded tone.

“Anyway, wha’s wrong with crowin’ about it?” asked Seamus, who was now wide awake and grinning as well. “Most blokes would be bragging if they bonked a bird.”

“Hermione’s not a bird!” Harry fumed, “And anyway, nothing happened!”

“If ye say so,” said Seamus, shrugging and smirking. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sorry Harry!” said Ron earnestly. “I mean it... really!”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry grumbled, feeling slightly mollified. 

But he couldn’t quite meet Hermione’s eyes as they made their way down to breakfast together with the other Gryffindors, and every time they tried looking at each other they both turned pink and quickly looked away. If Dora noticed anything, she kept it well hidden.

As the day wore on, Harry and Hermione both managed to get over that morning’s embarrassment and by afternoon they could look at each other without blushing. Everything was more or less back to normal between them, though it seemed to Harry that Hermione was finding even more excuses than ever for hugs and close physical contact - not that he minded in the least. 

If that stolen kiss - steamy enough to melt an iceberg - at the end of Herbology in the empty greenhouse after everyone else had already gone on to lunch was any indication, Hermione’s wandering hands suggested that she wasn’t at all put off by their _really_ close encounter that morning, much to Harry’s relief.

Finally regular lessons were over for the day, and as they waded through the white powdery drifts down to the lake for their swim, it started to snow again. This time, when Hermione tugged off her robes and grinned at him, ready for Warming Charms, Harry’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. Hermione was wearing a white with gold trim two-piece bikini instead of her one-piece, exposing more of herself than he’d ever seen before. 

“What’s the matter Harry?” asked Hermione as she tied her bushy hair back in a pony-tail, an impish look in her eye.

“Er, n...nothing,” he replied a bit squeakily, thinking he wouldn’t need that Warming Charm if his face grew any hotter as he adjusted his swimming trunks.

Dora, who was standing nearby on the ice shelf, tried to hide her little smirk. But she caught Harry’s attention anyway - it was hard not to as Dora too had worn robes under her parka today rather a jumper and jeans, and the reason why was obvious when she slipped out of her robes revealing a black and silver one-piece.

Harry and Hermione were both a bit surprised, as Dora had made it plain that even with Warming Charms, she thought swimming in a half-frozen lake in the dead of winter was madness. But when Fleur arrived, Hermione caught the glances and blushes between the two older witches and surmised that more was going on than met the eye. 

Once they were all in the dark waters of the lake, Harry began to relax. And, as he had the day before, he sampled a small pinch of Gillyweed, enough to last about ten minutes, in order to get used to what he would be trying to mimic when he was advanced enough to use his Metamorphmagus talent instead. 

And apparently Hermione, who was practicing the Bubblehead Charm, had come up with an interesting idea for how to make the best use of their time underwater together. Harry found himself the recipient of a submerged, slippery embrace and kisses from his girlfriend, who seemed to be doing her best to impersonate a mermaid...

**~o0o~**

Dry and clothed once more, nearly an hour later Harry found himself in the library with Hermione, as they both did research to help him with the Second Task. Harry was sitting at a table, reading up on an obscure Rune-set which ancient Vikings had apparently used to ward their vessels against Sea-Serpents, that Hermione had found in _Mariners, Magic, and Monsters of the Sea_.

After giving the section a read through, Harry flicked back to the pages on Sea Hags, wondering if there was any advice with dealing with those as well. Harry rather thought he should be prepared for any eventuality. 

Hermione returned from the dusty unused section of muggle reference books and smiled, pleased to see Harry so engrossed in the book. Harry looked up and grinned, seeing that Hermione had another pile of books in her arms, which she promptly plonked on the table.

“Should’ve guessed you’d be back with more!” he chortled. “What’ve you found there Hermione?”

“Oh, just some books on human anatomy and ichthyology,” said Hermione breezily.

“Ickthy-what?”

“Ichthyology... the study of fish. I thought it would be helpful to look up gill cell-structures and compare them with the cell structures of human lungs...”

Harry rubbed at his forehead and raised his eyebrows, beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t just be better off learning the Bubble-Head Charm and being done with it, especially when Hermione launched into what she had discovered so far.

“These are the images of the gill-structures that you’ll need Harry,” Hermione began in her school-teacher tone of voice, opening up several of the books on the table to the relevant pages. “Once you’ve reached the right skill level as a Metamorphmagus, it shouldn’t be as difficult as I thought it might be. ... At _first_ I thought you’d need special fish cells, but apparently fish gill cells for extracting oxygen and transferring it to the capillaries aren’t much different than those in our lungs - they just arrange them differently, in layers of epithelium instead of internal alveoli...”

Harry’s eyebrows had shot up, disappearing under his messy black fringe at _“won’t be as difficult as I thought,”_ and his brain had gone a bit fuzzy when he heard the words _“epithelium”_ and _“alveoli,”_ though he had a vague idea that he knew what capillaries were. 

Hermione saw his expression and blanched slightly, realising that she’d lost him already. Then Hermione blushed, reminding herself that Harry was a very visual learner. As long as he could picture it, he could do it, and with enough verbal association he would pick up the correct terminology with ease. But he had to be able to create a visual framework in his mind first to hang the words on.

“Sorry Harry...” she said with a sheepish grin, “don’t worry about anything I just said. All you need to do is picture these gill cell-structures at the same time as you’re visualising the overall cosmetic form while you’re transforming. I suppose that _will_ be quite difficult to do - hold more than one image in your mind at a time I mean.”

Harry nodded and smiled at Hermione. _That,_ he understood right off the mark. Suddenly, not caring that they were in the library where anyone might spot them (which was empty at the moment), Harry swept Hermione off her feet.

She tumbled into his lap with a little _“Oh,”_ taken aback by this abrupt turn of affairs. Encircled by Harry’s arms, her own around his shoulders, Hermione melted into the kiss. She gave Harry a very pleased but puzzled look when he had finished kissing her.

“What was that for? Not that I minded of course....” she said breathlessly, her lips still tingling.

“For just being you!” Harry grinned. “You’re brilliant Hermione! I think I like it when you go into lecture mode. ... Dunno why I ever complained really! You always get around to showing me what you’re on about eventually, and then I can work out what you just said even if I didn’t quite understand some of it the first time through.”

Hermione was sorely tempted to remain in Harry’s arms and snog a bit more, amidst the heady aroma of leather bindings and parchment of the tomes surrounding them, but they were on a tight schedule these days. 

“Thank you Harry! Though honestly, I can’t remember a single time you _ever_ complained,” she beamed. “It was always Ron who complained as far as I recall...”

Harry had to give her that, come to think about it. As he wracked his brains, he couldn’t actually remember ever complaining about Hermione’s discourses himself either; he supposed he’d simply heard Ron’s gripes so many times, they had seeped into his noggin.

“...Anyway,” Hermione continued. “we should probably check out the books we need now. We’re due to see Dora again in about ten minutes, and see how far along you are in your Metamorphmagus training...”

It had only been a few weeks - almost a month really - since Boxing Day, when Dora had first given Harry some tips for training up his talent, but he had already come a long way in that time. He had graduated from simple things like growing and shortening hair, changing its colour, and changing skin and fingernail colour, to more complicated things, such as adjusting musculature and bone structure, like changing the shape of his nose and jaw. 

Now Harry was at the stage of trying to do a load of changes all at once. After Dora invited Harry and Hermione into her private chambers, they set down their book bags and got right to it. 

“Right, Harry,” said Dora. “Let’s see what you’ve got then.”

Harry concentrated, but not too hard, just as he’d been practicing. Moments later he looked like a weird cross between Ron, Dean Thomas, and Draco Malfoy; Ron’s nose, cheekbones and freckles on a dark complexion with straight platinum blond hair and eyebrows. To top it off, Harry waved his hands, displaying sparkly hot-pink fingernails - clearly mimicking Lavender’s. 

The overall effect had Dora and Hermione in stitches. Hermione couldn’t stop giggling and Dora tipped over her chair, she was laughing so hard. Harry grinned.

“Merlin, Harry!” Dora wheezed, trying to catch her breath as she clambered to her feet and righted her chair. “That’s hilarious, not to mention bloody brilliant!” 

“So, what do you think?” asked Hermione once her giggles had abated. “Is Harry ready to practice replicating the Gillyweed transformation yet?”

“I’d say give it another week,” said Dora. “If you practice changing the rest of your anatomy a bit every day, Harry, I reckon you’ll be good enough to focus all your efforts on getting Gillyweed effects down. After that, it’s just a matter of regular practice, and over time you’ll be able to really perfect your technique. Eventually you could even change gender when you get good enough.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Harry, thrilled that he was advancing as smoothly and rapidly as he was. “I’ll need all the practice I can get, to get the gills right...”

Professor Moody had also kicked up his training sessions into high gear, the focus now heavily on combat spells: stunning, shielding, and a few explosive spells, for the time-being the concussive ones such as Bombarda and Expulso, though he and Dora continued training Harry and Hermione in hand to hand fighting techniques and dodging as well.

“...You’ll also wanna practice your releasing and severing charms, Potter,” Moody growled. “The last thing you want is to get tangled up in Water Weeds... and don’t be afraid t’use the more dangerous spells like Diffindo on creatures if your life depends on it. Holding back if something’s tryin’ to kill you won’t do you any favours. 

“You oughta start practicing doin’ this all underwater while you’re swimming too. I’ve seen you two out there swimmin’ with Delacour. You might as well get her in on it and all train together - stayin’ alive is more important than winning...”

**~o0o~**

“Crabbe, Goyle...” Draco barked, glaring at Crabbe and Goyle when he finally managed to successfully kill three rodents with Avada Kedavras after days of producing nothing but green sparks, “find me some more rats. And can’t you find more than three? ... That’s bloody pathetic! I need a load more than that to get this right...”

“Finding rats is harder than it looks,” whined Goyle. 

“Oh come on!” Draco snapped. “How hard can it be? Don’t make bloody excuses! It doesn’t even have to be rats - it doesn’t matter what you bring me as long as it’s alive. Go into the woods and find me squirrels if you have to, or weasels... whatever! I need to practice the Cruciatus Curse too...”

“What about the Imperium Curse?” Crabbe asked thickly, picking his nose and peering at the bogey.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s Imperius Curse you idiot! And I don’t care about that one right now! ... Now get going and hurry up about it.”

Crabbe and Goyle meekly obeyed their orders and filed out of the empty cell deep in the dungeons in which Draco was training himself. Draco watched as they departed, frustrated that he’d probably have to wait at least another day until they found enough small animals for him to practice on. He knew he’d have to keep at it for days or even weeks before he could generate enough power to take out a wizard, or even a muggle playing at being a witch.

Enraged at his rapid decline in status - even in his own House - and the continued slights on his honour, Draco was more determined than ever to get his revenge on Potter and his pet Mudblood, and he wasn’t going to rely on the ineffectual schemes of his father and his father’s Ministry friends anymore.


	17. Private People

The final push was on the last few weeks leading up to the Second Task, and Harry was enormously busy. But when Harry received a brief missive from Sirius just after the beginning of February to be prepared for another Fireside chat at midnight in two days he didn’t care how late it was going to be, even though Hermione had warned him that he really ought to be getting plenty of sleep so that he would be able to keep his focus during the day.

Harry had received the note from the barn owl which tapped on the window of his dormitory just after dinner; he had briefly considered not telling Hermione, then remembered that he was telling her everything these days, no matter how much he was reticent to talk about certain things or give her a reason to be upset, so he had headed back down to the common room where she was still looking up Runes to help him in the Second Task.

Feeling slightly guilty, He was glad now that he had decided not to hold anything back. Harry set his ink bottle, brush, and quill on the coffee table next to his parchment on which he was going to be working on the Rune Sequences which Hermione was working out for him, and tentatively broached the subject.

“Erm... Hermione?”

“Yes Harry?” said Hermione, looking up from her notes.

Harry peered furtively around the common room to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice.

“Erm, well... I just received a note from Sirius,” he said quietly, “He wants to talk the night after tomorrow - in the fireplace at midnight.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, in an equally soft voice and strangely looking very interested. “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? I mean - it’s been months since you last chatted and he _is_ your godfather after all...” 

“Er... So you don’t think it’s too late then?”

“Don’t be silly,” whispered Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Of course you should talk to him, no matter how late it is - he’s family...”

“Cool!” Harry responded, feeling very relieved. Now it was Hermione who looked a bit shy, biting her lip.

“So, er, anyway, do you mind if I join you?” she asked hopefully. “I mean, I expect you’d like a bit of privacy - but it’s a very interesting way of communicating - using the Floo system. It seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? I can’t imagine one’s head spinning round and round while one’s body is stationary at the other end. Though, I _suppose_ you could just ask Sirius how that works and tell me later, but it would be nice to say hello too...”

“Yeah, of course you can join me Hermione,” said Harry, grinning, cutting off Hermione’s rushing flow of words; he suddenly realised how cute she was when she talked a mile a minute when she was nervous. “And I bet Sirius would like to say hello to you too. He hasn’t seen you since last year.” 

Hermione beamed at Harry and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Alright,” she said, shifting gears, “now that we’ve sorted that out, we really should be getting on with this - there’s only three weeks left...”

**~o0o~**

Harry and Hermione both studied late the night that Sirius’s head was due in the fireplace, but they both grew anxious when it was after eleven and there was still a sixth year couple snogging in the corner of the common room. Harry and Hermione both tried reading a bit more, but gave up as they couldn’t concentrate anymore. Putting their books down, they both fidgeted, wondering if they should pick up their quills and pretend that they were going to write some notes.

The sixth year couple finally roused from the well-cushioned armchair they had both been occupying at eleven thirty and smirked a bit at Harry and Hermione.

“Night, Potter, Granger,” said the older boy. “Don’t stay up too late doing... _homework!”_ he added with a wink; the sixth year girl tittered. 

Harry and Hermione both reddened, then breathed a sigh of relief when the two sixth years headed up their respective stairs to their respective dormitories. Then Hermione bit her lip, grinning shyly and moved in for a kiss. 

“I thought we might as well put the next half hour to good use,” she said when they both came up for air, “now that we’ve got the common room to ourselves.” 

“No argument here!” Harry grinned.

Arms wrapped around one another, hands roaming, they re-engaged their lips, the kisses growing increasingly impassioned. When they heard the first ding of the clock striking twelve, they quickly pulled apart, gasping, and straightened their rumpled clothes; Hermione tried to pat down her bushy hair which looked wilder than ever after Harry’s fingers had been entangled in her curls.

Not a moment too soon; on the twelfth ding something was happening in the fireplace. The crackling flames flared and turned green; as the green flames died down they saw a head spinning in the hearth. When it came to a stop, Sirius’s head peered at them both. His eyebrows rose as he gave them a canny look. 

“Been busy, eh? So it seems that Skeeter’s article was right on the mark after all! That’s a first! I suppose she’s got to get something right once in a while.”

Harry and Hermione’s cheeks took on a rosy tinge. 

“H...how did you know?” Harry sputtered. “I mean, I was going to tell you, but...”

“I have my sources,” said Sirius, grinning. “...Actually, it was Mad Eye, if you must know - Dora told me to bugger off and mind my own business when I asked her if it was true. By the way, well done for rumbling the imposter you two. ... And it’s really nice to see you again Hermione - I must say, I thought you and Harry seemed quite well suited for one another the last time I saw you.”

“Erm...” said Harry, his face growing even hotter.

“Okay, I know when to leave well enough alone,” said Sirius, growing more serious. “Anyway, I wanted to touch base with you again before the Second Task now that I’ve taken up more permanent residence. I know you’ve been concerned about my return to Britain, and we never really got to finish our conversation before the First Task.”

“Oh, did you find a safe place then?” asked Harry, feeling some relief; he had been feeling guilty for a while now since inadvertently luring Sirius back to Britain with his paining scar.

“You could say that,” said Sirius dryly. “It’s home anyway - my childhood home. It was never my favourite place, but it’s well protected - not even the Ministry can find me here, nor Voldemort for that matter. And as long as I’m careful, I’ll still be able to get out a bit in dog form.

“In any case, speaking about being safe, that’s really what I wanted to talk to you about - your safety at Hogwarts, Harry! Now that we know it wasn’t Karkaroff, and that it was one of Voldemort’s people who put your name in the Goblet, Mad Eye and I got to chatting and he told me about his suspicions that someone at the Ministry is also targeting you.

“I don’t like it, and neither does Mad Eye. It was too easy for me to get into Gryffindor tower last year once I got the passwords, and if Voldemort managed to slip someone else who’s been polyjuiced into Hogwarts, perhaps even posing as one of your house-mates ... Well, I don’t even like to think what could happen...”

Harry gulped and he shared an anxious look with Hermione. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. Harry knew that Dumbledore was checking all visitors and doing regular checks of the staff now for signs of being polyjuiced or imperiused - but if it was someone posing as a student, possibly a Gryffindor even... Harry didn’t need Hermione to tell him that it would be a logistical nightmare to check hundreds of students.

“Anyway, I’m not trying to worry you too much Harry,” Sirius continued, taking note of Harry’s anxiety, “but I’d really like for you to have private quarters with its own special protections, and Mad Eye agrees...”

“Wait, is that even possible?” Harry gasped, shooting another look at Hermione, this one surprised.

“Certainly,” said Sirius, “I don’t know if it’s been done before, but you’re a special case Harry, for very obvious reasons. Mad Eye and I thought we might have a bit of trouble convincing Dumbledore - but once we got McGonagall on our side too before making our case... Well, Dumbledore could hardly disagree with all three of us...”

The more he thought about, Harry could hardly disagree either. There was only one real issue as far as Harry could see, and it almost made Harry more anxious than thinking about all the potential people out to get him...

“Er... well, erm... I suppose that makes sense,” Harry muttered, “but people already think I get special treatment as it is...”

“Your friend Ron - not to mention all the others who think you cheated to get into the tournament,” Sirius sighed. “Believe me Harry, I understand all too well! ... But your safety is far more important than some hurt feelings or the uninformed opinions of the other students.”

Harry knew Sirius was right, but he still wasn’t very keen to put up with all the scrutiny he had faced earlier that year - it had been like Second Year all over again. His stomach tied up in knots.

Hermione had grown increasingly troubled as she listened to Sirius and when she saw Harry’s expression, she knew she had to say something to persuade him.

“Harry, you _really_ ought to do this!” she implored him. “If Professor Moody and McGonagall and Dumbledore _all_ agree, then this has to be the best option for you. I know you’re worried most about Ron’s feelings, but after everything... I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Yeah, I know I have to do this Hermione,” said Harry, finally convinced. “I just hope you’re right.”

Sirius looked very relieved; he shot Hermione a grateful smile.

“Excellent!” said Sirius. “That’s a load off my mind. And I know Dora will keep her eye on you too. ... Anyway, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep up your training - it’s not just for the tournament after all.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, nodding vigorously and brightening right up, “of course! It was a bit rough with Professor Moody at first, but I think it’s brilliant!” 

“Right, I had a feeling you’d say that,” Sirius beamed. “Now, I should probably let you get some sleep, but one last thing, I’ll be sending you something else by Owl post when I’ve found it here at home. You should be getting an unmarked package in a few days or so. It’s a communication device - we’ll be able to talk anytime you need. It’s much easier than Floo calling, let me tell you!”

“Speaking of which,” Harry grinned at his girlfriend, “Hermione had a question she wanted to ask you.”

“Shut up!” said Hermione, turning as red as a fire engine and giving Harry a little swat on the shoulder. “You know I really just wanted to see Sirius with you and say hi. It’s not that important.”

“Well, regardless, Hermione,” said Sirius, a huge grin on his face, “I’m here right now. Fire away!”

“Erm... Well, I _was_ really curious!” Hermione admitted, “How do you manage to Floo-call? I mean, with your head spinning at one end and the rest of you stationary at the other end?”

“I’m not quite sure how it all works to be perfectly honest,” said Sirius. “But I can say that it feels bloody weird and uncomfortable! I’m really not fond of Floo calling and I’ll be much happier when Harry gets the parcel I’m sending him. We’ll be able to chat more often.”

“Got it,” said Harry, determined to make life easier for his godfather...

**~o0o~**

Ron stirred when he heard Harry finally coming to bed, and when Harry saw Ron grinning at him again, Harry considered whacking him with a pillow a few times again. As Harry lay his head back down on his pillow, he felt a bit sad; he was going to miss living in Gryffindor tower and sleeping in the dormitory.

But as certain potential benefits of having his own private space began to sink in, a smile crept to Harry’s face. He could still hang out and do homework in the common room after all. Harry fell asleep dreaming happy thoughts about snogging Hermione in perfect privacy...

**~o0o~**

Ron was stunned the next morning when Harry told him everything over breakfast. First he just gaped at Harry, breakfast forgotten. Then he frowned. Then Ron looked confused. Then he frowned again. Ron opened his mouth as if he were about yell at Harry, then he shut it and looked confused again. Neville rolled his eyes.

Harry swallowed nervously and glanced at Hermione as he watched Ron trying to sort out his feelings right before his very eyes. Hermione gave Harry a look somewhere between an apologetic one and a just-wait-and-see look. 

Finally Ron slumped and sighed, glumly forking a sausage. For the first time in his life Ron chewed very slowly. Then he quietly ate a pile of scrambled egg, several pieces of bacon and a piece of toast and drained his glass of pumpkin juice in several gulps. He pushed back his chair slightly, looking like he felt a bit better with a full stomach.

“Er... okay then. Right...” said Ron, nodding slowly. “I get it Harry, I really do. ... I mean, bloody hell, after all these nutters sneaking into Hogwarts and trying to murder you last year and this year, it just makes loads of sense really!”

Neville nodded. 

“Yeah, it really does make sense, Harry,” he muttered, turning pink, clearly remembering how he’d left a list of passwords lying around in third year. 

“Er... Wow! So we’re really cool then Ron? ...and you too Neville?” Harry asked, deciding not to remind Ron and Neville that the mass murdering maniac in third year had really been Ron’s pet rat Scabbers, who had had access to Harry at any time since first year.

“Yeah, we’re cool Harry,” said Ron. “I just hope you’ll have a bit more time to hang out after the Second Task.”

“What Ron said,” said Neville, nodding again.

“Cool!” said Harry, feeling very relieved. “Anyway, yeah - there’ll be four months between the Second Task and the Third Task - I’ll still be a bit busy, but I should have loads more time.”

After breakfast, on their way to class, Hermione smiled at Harry. “Well, all things considered, I think that went rather well.”

“Yeah - _**way**_ better than I thought it would,” Harry agreed, grinning at her; Hermione had admirably managed to keep her I-told-you-so tone of voice to a bare minimum. 

Hermione also had a spark of naughtiness in her eye which suggested that the possible benefits of Harry having his own private quarters had occurred to her as well. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Harry suddenly came out of it after classes, wondering how he’d got from the morning to the end of lessons already, almost as if he’d had a time-turner. Hermione helped Harry pack all his things in his trunk and lug them downstairs to the common room. Harry had thought of getting Ron and Neville to help, but reckoned that might be pushing it a bit.

Lavender could hardly contain herself; she looked like she was bursting to pounce and get Hermione to tell her everything. Parvati smirked a bit at Lavender and rolled her eyes.

Harry hefted his trunk through the portrait hole while Hermione puffed on the other side, trying to to help him lift it through. Dora appeared in the nick of time to help Hermione catch the trunk and carefully lower it to the floor while Harry clambered through the portrait hole.

“Thanks Dora,” said Hermione, still trying to catch her breath. “Even after all of Professor Moody’s workouts and swimming every day, that still felt a bit heavier than I thought it would. It’s loads heavier than mine.”

“No worries, Hermione,” said Dora cheerily. “I got the other end from here, alright?”

Hermione followed Harry and Dora as they carried his trunk to his new quarters, which were spare teachers’ quarters at the end of a corridor very near to Gryffindor tower. Dora pointed at another sturdy oak door in the stone wall of the passage on the right. 

“I’ll be movin’ into that one right there, Harry. So I’ll still be real close.”

Harry nodded as they passed through the threshold of his new private chambers, and grunted when they set the trunk down in his new bedroom.

“Thanks Dora,” said Harry, wiping the sweat from his brow, wondering how he had ever managed to stow his heavy, old fashioned oak-wood trunk with iron bracings on the Hogwarts Express, even with Ron’s help. 

He’d never really given it much thought. Hermione’s was much more sensible - it wasn’t even a trunk. Rather, Hermione’s luggage was a thoroughly modern large suitcase which had little wheels on the bottom and a backpack. He’d always managed to lift them onto the luggage racks by himself with no problem.

“Right, I’ll leave you to unpack then, Harry. I’m gonna go get my own stuff now,” said Dora.

“I can help if you need it, Dora,” Hermione offered, thinking she could manage now after having given her arms a bit of a rest. 

“Nah! I got it Hermione.” Dora gave her and Harry a little knowing smile. “My stuff is loads lighter, and I can make a couple o’ trips.”

After Dora had left, Harry and Hermione took a little tour around the private chambers. As well as a sitting room with a cozy looking sofa and a fireplace, there was a tiny little kitchen with a few wooden cupboards and a kettle on the stove. The bathroom was more luxurious than Harry had imagined it would be, containing an enormous marble tub with numerous gold and silver spigots and faucets.

“Huh! ... Wonder what all those are for?” said Harry. 

Then Harry returned to his new bedroom with Hermione in tow. It wasn’t all that different than the dormitory really, carpeted, with a large four-poster bed and a brick fireplace, except there was also an ornate mahogany cupboard and an equally ornate mahogany dresser, and a large bookcase. 

“Wow! This really is amazing Harry,” said Hermione, peering around the room, ogling the enormous bookcase which already had a row of ancient looking tomes sitting on one of the shelves. Harry grinned.

“I suppose I ought to get unpacking,” Harry opined, “so we can get back to studying and practicing stuff for the Triwiz.”

“What’s the rush?” Hermione said breezily, grabbing Harry by the hand and pulling him into the sitting room. “ _Finally_ , a bit of privacy!”

Harry suddenly found himself pinned to the sofa while Hermione snogged him silly, more than pleased that his earlier suspicion that she had been on the same wavelength had turned out to be true. They were after all, both fairly private people, not given to excessive public displays of affection...  
__


	18. The Second Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An explicit version of this chapter is now available in _Yuletide Blessings in Disguise: the Steamier Version_.

Now it was _really_ crunch time! There was barely a week to go and Harry had finally mastered his metamorphmagus gillyweed mimicking transformation on Saturday. Not to mention that Hermione was really pleased that after much practice, Harry’s inking of the Rune Sequences she had worked out for him was flawless. All that remained was to practice inking himself. 

And that was the problem! 

After skimming through the Charms textbooks for every year, Hermione had searched endlessly in the library for a spell which would make it easier for Harry to practice tattooing the runes on himself. Then she remembered the row of ancient looking tomes on the bookshelf in Harry’s private quarters. Hermione gnawed her lower lip as she blew the dust off the cracked leather binding of one which looked promising while Harry was diligently revising his Arithmancy homework in his sitting room.

“Hmm... _Charmes for the Boudoir of the Moste Beauteous_ ,” Hermione muttered to herself. “I wonder...”

Hermione began leafing through the pages. Her eyes widened and she gasped at a number of scandalous spells complete with illustrations. Clearly the book was intended for every possible activity in which one might engage in a Boudoir. Flushing, Hermione lingered on some of the pages, imagining how they might be put to use with a certain someone she had fallen head over heels for.

It took every effort for Hermione to tear herself away from that chapter. Her heart still racing, a tingly sensation still rushing through her veins, Hermione flicked through the pages of the next chapter, one regarding bedroom furnishings which looked much more likely to contain something useful for her most immediate needs... well, for Harry’s most immediate needs anyway. The others might come in handy at a later date.

On the fifth page of the chapter, Hermione’s eyes lit up when she finally spotted a spell which was exactly what she needed. It was surprising really that she hadn’t found the spell in more recent advanced charms books. Hermione peered up at the mirror on Harry’s dresser. She wasn’t sure that it was large enough or low enough for Harry to see more than his head and shoulders.

Hermione popped into Harry’s bathroom and beamed. Perfect! The mirror was wide and tall, and the sink counter in front of it was low enough that Harry would be able to see his entire torso.

Hermione uttered the incantation, “Speculo Imago Novis,” as she precisely executed the wand movements. When the desired result was achieved she gleefully bounced on her toes.

“Harry! I’ve done it! I’ve done it,” she squeaked loudly. “Come and see.”

Harry cautiously peeked through the door. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“If I wasn’t decent, I wouldn’t have called, silly.” Though Hermione wasn’t entirely sure if that was true - especially after perusing the chapter preceding the one in which she had found the spell.

“Erm... What am I supposed to be looking at?” asked Harry, looking puzzled.

“The mirror - look.”

“Erm...” Harry said again, still looking bewildered. 

“Come _here_ and look,” said Hermione, grabbing his arm and pulling him closer.

“Er...” it still took Harry a few moments to register what he was seeing in the mirror. He gasped. “It’s reversed - I mean it’s the right way round... er... I’m not sure what I mean. How...?”

“The spell - I found it in a really old book - these quarters must have originally belonged to a professor who was a witch. The book is especially geared for Boudoirs.” 

“Er, what’s a Boudoir?” asked Harry.

“A woman’s bedroom,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes again. “ _Honestly_ Harry, haven’t you ever read a...?” Then Hermione trailed off, turning pink and feeling a bit embarrassed. “Of course you haven’t! I’m sorry Harry - it’s not very likely that you’ve ever read a romance or a women’s magazine.”

Harry smiled wanly and shook his head, looking slightly abashed himself. “No, I haven’t! Aunt Petunia never left anything like that lying around. And even if I’d seen one in my primary school’s library, I probably would’ve never looked in it. ... I preferred fantasy and science fiction stories to tell you the truth. It’s kind of weird come to think about it... I always loved stories with wizards and witches and elves and unicorns - stuff like that.”

“That’s not that odd, really, I suppose,” said Hermione, looking thoughtful. “Anyway, now you’ll be able to practice inking yourself with the runes...”

“Wow! Of course! That’s _brilliant_ , Hermione!” I’d better hop to it then...”

“Well, you probably won’t have time tonight,” Hermione pointed out reasonably, “I mean, it’ll be curfew for me in about forty five minutes, and you really ought to get to sleep at a sensible hour. You can practice in the afternoons after practicing the combat spells and fighting underwater with Fleur. You’re really good at the calligraphy, so I expect you’ll only need two or three days to get it right - which is really good because the Second Task is on Friday. And don’t worry about homework for any of your other classes this week - I’ll help you catch up next week...”

Hermione finally paused to take a breath and Harry took the opportunity to kiss her. Hermione melted into the kiss and when they both came up for air, she felt a bit breathless and tingly again.

“I take it you have a plan for how to occupy ourselves before curfew then?” said Harry, grinning.

“That I do,” Hermione agreed, blushing and feeling a bit nervous and hopeful. 

Moments later, Hermione was vigorously kissing Harry again, this time on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, bathed in the warm orange glow of the crackling flames. She sensed Harry’s passion rising; Harry suddenly turned pink and pulled back...

“Er... m-maybe... erm... perhaps we should take a break,” Harry stammered.

Feeling emboldened, her heart pounding, Hermione took a chance. She trailed her fingers across his chest and leaned in close again.

“We don’t have to stop, if you don’t want to,” Hermione whispered breathily in his ear.

“Er... really?”

“Yes, really!” said Hermione, planting a little kiss on Harry’s neck just under his ear.

“You’re absolutely certain, then?”

“Does this answer your question?” Hermione murmured, giving Harry another kiss a bit further down his neck, her fingers now slipping inside his shirt as she wriggled slightly on his lap. 

Harry gave Hermione a lopsided grin, his breath quickening. Hermione could feel his heart racing under the palm of her hand as it rested on the bare skin of his chest under the shirt.

“Y...yeah, I g-guess it does,” said Harry, clearly still nervous, probably wondering how far she was planning to go. “Alright then... I’m game if you are - just say wh...when you, er... when you want to stop.” 

“Mm, you’re very sweet Harry!” Hermione undid a few buttons on his shirt, then undid a few of the buttons of her own blouse. 

“Go ahead Harry,” she said breathlessly, undoing the rest of the buttons of her blouse before undoing some more of Harry’s buttons. “We don’t have to - you know - go all the way. I’m not sure I’m ready for _that_ either, but I... I’m definitely ready for a bit more now...”

**~o0o~**

Harry couldn’t believe it! They had been a bit more handsy the last few weeks, but never strayed too far beyond the hips or the curves of their backs. Though come to think of it, Hermione had certainly been rubbing up against him a lot, slipping her thighs between his, her hands roaming his chest and occasionally “accidentally” grasping his bum for leverage.

Ever since she’d started showing herself off in her two piece piece bikini in fact!

Harry suddenly realised that Hermione had been hoping for him to reciprocate and was now making it absolutely clear what she wanted by partially undressing him and herself. He wasn’t exactly sure where he should put his hands, but he knew where he wanted to put them - but he was still very anxious about putting them _there_.

Hermione made it even easier for Harry by shifting her torso slightly until her blouse gapped a bit more, her hands roaming further than they ever had before. Harry gasped at Hermione’s touch and with trembling hands, he reached out to reciprocate.

When Hermione didn’t leap off him in horror and run away screaming, smiling at him instead, Harry felt a surge of relief and grew bolder as the sultry look she was giving him through half closed eyelids made her intentions very clear.

**~o0o~**

Harry’s touch was electrifying. Hermione bit her lip, a flood of pleasure rushing through her veins. She arched, a little moan escaping her lips as she and Harry continued showering their affections upon one another. Finally, the heady rush of bliss took Hermione by storm and she slumped against Harry panting heavily, feeling his own hot, ragged breaths against her skin.

**~o0o~**

Harry woke suddenly, hearing the ding of the clock striking on the hour, Hermione still laying atop him. Her slow, gentle breathing told him that she was still fast asleep. Already alarmed for Hermione that it was probably well past curfew, he listened for the number of dings.

When the clock stopped at six dings he started to panic. It was morning! It was bloody morning and Hermione had been asleep on top of him, both of them half-naked, all night!

Harry hated to wake Hermione but they didn’t have much choice; he tried to extricate himself and Hermione began to stir.

“Mm, that was nice, Harry,” she murmured sleepily, her eyes still closed, “What time is it? I might need to borrow your invisibility cloak if it’s after curfew.”

“N...no time for that!” Harry gasped. “It’s morning - six o’clock in the morning and breakfast starts at seven.”

 _“What?”_ Hermione’s eyes shot wide open and she bolted right up. 

“Oh no!” she squeaked when she saw the time for herself. Then she began to calm down when she realised that Harry was panicking even more than her. 

“I’m sure it’ll be alright, Harry,” she said soothingly. “Lavender and Parvati won’t tell on me, and I don’t think the other girls in my dorm will either.”

“Okay! ... Okay,” Harry nodded, trying to slow his wildly beating heart. “Good... That’s good then!”

Harry began to calm down... except for one part of him which was all too aware of Hermione’s presence still on top of him. He groaned.

“Bloody hell! I’ll need a cold shower now!”

“There’s _really_ not enough time for us both to take separate showers,” Hermione said in her pragmatic tone of voice. “And I’m  
_not_ taking a cold shower! Now come on, and we’ll kill two birds with one stone...”

“What?” Harry squeaked, not sure he’d heard correctly. “Y...you mean...?”

“I mean I’m going to take care of your little problem while we’re showering,” she stated firmly as she clambered off him and grabbed his hand. “Now get up! You’ve already seen me half-naked anyway - a bit more won’t kill you.”

Harry wasn’t so sure about that. What if he had a heart attack? He tried to shake that idiotic thought from his head as Hermione dragged him to the bathroom. He goggled as Hermione quickly stripped down, giving him an unrestricted view of everything she had to offer.

Hermione turned to look at Harry and rolled her eyes.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that in the shower! Now hurry up and get out of those clothes - speaking of which, I really hope you have some briefs I can borrow. I think boxers might make my skirt look a bit lumpy... though it’ll probably be wrinkled anyway, but still...”

Hermione began yanking at Harry’s shirt; and though Harry was thrilled to be showering with a nude Hermione, after he dropped his trousers he still hesitated to tug off his boxers, embarrassed to be completely naked in front of Hermione.

Of course, Harry could hardly back out now that Hermione was completely undressed. Seconds later, he was in the shower with Hermione behind a shower-curtain, the steam rising from the spray of hot water...

Harry felt a bit giddy after the shower, unable to help grinning like an idiot, his “problem” solved. It was lucky they had both showered together, because by the time they had dried off, cleaned their teeth, brushed their hair, and dressed (fortunately Harry did have a pair of clean briefs for Hermione to wear), straightening out their rumpled clothes to the best of their ability, it was quarter to seven.

Harry managed to wipe the grin off his face just in time. He opened the door of his private chambers, hoping that he and Hermione would arrive in the stone passage before Dora exited her own quarters, looking like they had just met and were ready for their “secret escort.” But just as Harry and Hermione stepped into the corridor, Dora emerged from the entrance of her private chambers with Fleur.

Everyone stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide!

Then there were furious blushes all the way around; Fleur tittered nervously.

Dora managed to pull herself together first. “Erm... Your secret is safe with us, guys!” 

“Er... Yours too,” blurted out Harry. “I mean yours is safe with us.”

“Ees alright,” said Fleur, smiling. “For Dora and I - there ees no trouble.” 

“Oh, right! Of course,” said Hermione.

“But with a bit o’ luck, no prefects spotted you weren’t in your dorm last night,” said Dora wryly. “Anyway, t’tell you the truth, it makes my job a bit easier if I don’t have to divide my attention between Gryffindor tower and Harry’s quarters,” she added with a conspiratorial wink.

When they all arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, Lavender and Parvati burst into giggles when they spotted Harry and Hermione. Taking their seats, Harry and Hermione both turned pink, hoping that nobody else had noticed that Hermione had been missing from her dormitory all night.

Ron and Neville looked up from their breakfasts, almost oblivious to Harry and Hermione as their attention was focused on Lavender and Parvati, who were still giggling madly.

“What’s that all about?” Neville wondered.

“No idea mate,” Ron shrugged. “Like I said - girls - mental!”

**~o0o~**

Harry focused intently on preparations for the Second Task, trying his best - and failing miserably - to keep Hermione out of his mind. It was particularly difficult as she was with him for nearly every waking moment - when she wasn’t in her dorm like clockwork every night. Not to mention that every time Harry practiced painting the runes on himself in the mirror, it was impossible to forget their shower together.

The last night, before dinner, Hermione gave Harry a once over to check the runes. They were perfect. But the sight of shirtless Harry, his torso more chiseled from swimming and all of the Moody workouts sorely tempted her.

Harry could barely eat a bite during dinner. He moodily chased his peas around the plate with a fork, his stomach churning at the thought of Hermione being trapped underwater for who knew how long. Hermione gave Harry a wan little smile when Professor McGonagall beckoned her following the feast. 

Harry couldn’t help noticing the rather taut expression on McGonagall’s face as she led Hermione away, and he felt like he might throw up, glad now that he hadn’t eaten anything. If McGonagall was looking so grim, as if she didn’t approve of the situation, what did that mean? Did she know something that he didn’t?

Harry tried to reassure himself that she was probably just worried because she too suspected that Harry would probably have to face some extra obstacles in the lake, and found that wasn’t helping at all.

Dora looked a bit subdued herself as she and Harry traipsed back to their quarters, and he knew she was worried about Fleur. They both lingered for a few moments in the corridor outside their doors, looking at each other. Then Dora gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll see you in the morning Harry. Try to get some sleep, alright?”

“Yeah, you too,” Harry muttered. “Night.”

But sleep seemed like a distant possibility as Harry tossed and turned. And to top it off, his scar kept throbbing and prickling; he had the distinct feeling that Voldemort was brooding in anticipation of the outcome of the Second Task. 

One o’clock ticked by...Two o’clock...Three o’clock. Harry almost gave up trying to sleep, but the next thing he knew there was a knocking on his door. Apparently he had managed to get a few hours sleep after all.

“Time t’go, Harry,” Dora called through the door. 

“Er... be right there,” Harry shouted back. He hurriedly tugged on his swimming trunks and a black t-shirt, and threw his robes on over the lot.

“Sorry about that,” Harry panted as he flung open his door. Then he noticed the dark circles under Dora’s eyes and reckoned that she had barely got any sleep too.

As they walked past the stands, Harry caught the POTTER STINKS badge flashing on the lapel of Malfoy’s robes. He rolled his eyes and considered flipping Malfoy the bird, but decided that wouldn’t be very “Championish” and continued on his way, stepping onto the wooden gangplank leading to the platform on the lake. Fleur, Cedric and Ludo Bagman were already waiting and Viktor was trailing behind Harry. 

It was a bright clear day, just a few puffy clouds in the sky and a chilly breeze. And though there were still some patches of snow on the grounds, this late in February the ice on the lake had largely melted, only a few chunks floating like little icebergs on the shimmering surface of the Black Lake. 

Bagman gave Harry a sly wink as Harry took his place next to Fleur, who was in her powder blue wetsuit, and Cedric who was wearing a black and gold wetsuit. Harry frowned; in his black swimming trunks and black t-shirt, he wasn’t representing Gryffindor very well, but he didn’t have anything in scarlet and gold which was particularly useful for swimming. He reckoned that he’d look quite ridiculous jumping in the lake with his uniform, not to mention he wouldn’t be able to swim very well in waterlogged clothes.

Once all the Champions were assembled, Cedric swinging his arms around to loosen up and Viktor standing stiffly next to him in a burgundy t-shirt and black swimming trunks, Bagman raised his wand and addressed them.

“Right, when I shoot a flare from the wand, that will be your signal to enter the lake - not before. I am assuming that you have all worked out your clues by now, but nonetheless I would be remiss not to tell you that you have one hour, and one hour only to retrieve something that you will sorely miss.

“Now, on your marks...get set...GO!” A bright red flare shot up from the end of Bagman’s wand, soaring high into the air. Viktor and Cedric dove into the lake without hesitation, followed immediately by Fleur; Harry stuffed a large pinch of Gillyweed into his mouth, making sure that all the judges could see before plunging in after the others.

Once under the surface of the freezing water of lake, Harry spat out the Gillyweed and used his metamorph powers to transfigure himself into the form he needed. He sped like a dolphin into the deep, murky waters, lighting his way with his wand. He was glad for the runes protecting him from the cold and hoped the other runes would be just as effective, also hoping he didn’t run into any creatures for which there had been no runic protections.

Harry wondered how the others were faring when he spied a forest of light-green water weeds just up ahead within the range of his wand-light. There was no going around them so he swam above them, keeping a sharp eye out for anything hiding below as he passed through a large school of trout which broke around him.

That was when the first danger made its presence known. Rapidly emerging from the water-forest below were a horde of water sprites. Harry desperately hoped the runes would work, as the creatures were just as deadly singly as they were in swarms. They didn’t look like much, as small as they were, but they were far more dangerous than Grindylow. One bite was enough to kill.

There was no doubt that someone had introduced them to the lake since he had last swum in it, only a few days prior. Harry’s heart began to pound in his ears when it occurred to him that the others might not be prepared for such lethal creatures. Fleur had an inkling at least, as they had discussed the possibilities during their combat practice together in the lake,

Harry swam faster but the sprites were quick and surrounded him on all sides; a sizable group broke off the rest of the horde and were nearly on him, less than a metre between them and him. He began to panic, thinking that somehow he had made a mistake with the runes. They were almost a foot away when the nearest began shrieking in agony, their skin blistering, the sound of their echoey cries piercing his eardrums painfully before they swam away. 

Dozens more came at him, but none of them managed to break through the invisible shield radiating from Harry’s rune-warded body. After several minutes of the sprite horde ineffectively swirling around him, they gave up the ghost and disappeared into the murk. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, or at least an approximation of it as the icy water rushed through his gills.

That was when he felt a strong ripple against the current and spotted an enormous shadow - then it was gone. But Harry could still feel the shifting currents and his heart started racing again. He sensed it was now behind him and whirled around just in time to see the gigantic shadow disappear into the darkness once more.

Harry’s gills flared; he whipped around to see it vanish into blackness again. It was playing cat and mouse with him, and judging by its size Harry surmised it was probably a sea-serpent. _Fantastic Beasts_ claimed they had never hurt humans despite muggle legends to the contrary, but Hermione had disputed that based on reading multiple alternate sources in ancient dusty tomes she had found in the Restricted Section of the library and it seemed that she was right. 

Harry was beginning to wonder if those Viking Runes she had discovered in the more recent book - by which she meant a hundred and fifty years past rather than a thousand or more - would actually work. The Sea Serpent didn’t seem particularly threatened considering how it was toying with him. 

Maybe the runes would only work if it got close enough, like the water-sprites... or maybe the book just hadn’t been old enough have an accurate representation of the Viking Runes. Even Hermione had said they might be a gamble.

Crap, crap, crap, he thought! It was coming at him again, and this time the massive head of the beast emerging from the gloom sped toward him faster than he thought possible, its undulating body trailing behind it. Harry tried to dodge the head only to be slammed in the back of his head by the tip of its tail which had wound around him, invisible in the murk, and hit him from the rear.

As Harry tumbled through the water, seeing stars, he knew he should have been prepared for the gigantic water-snake’s feint. The sea beasts could grow upwards of a hundred feet in length. Harry tried to spin around with his flippers, reckoning that the creature would try to take advantage of his dizziness.

Not a moment too soon! Harry was still too dazed to see it properly, but he could just make out through his blurred vision the shape of its head which seemed to grow larger, and guessed that its maw was opening widely enough to swallow him whole.

“BOMBARDA MAXIMA!” Harry mouthed in the equivalent of a submerged bellow, taking a chance as he aimed his wand right at the center of the fuzzy dark shape swimming toward him rapidly. 

His eyesight cleared just in time to see that he had hit the bullseye as the bright blue spell shot down its throat. Harry was propelled backwards by the force of the water rushing at him when the spell exploded in the Sea-Serpent’s gullet.

Harry was shaking badly when his tumbling halted; he glanced back to see a long dark shadow sinking into the black depths of the lake. He didn’t know if it was just stunned or dead; he just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. Harry fled through what appeared to be a forest of vines reaching up from the bottom of the lake, slashing his wand again and again, mouthing “Diffindo,” multiple time as he sped away.

Spying the decaying wreckage of a vessel, Harry swam inside and took a moment to calm down. Then he swam out of the other side and headed towards the centre of the lake again, hoping he wouldn’t run into any more lethal creatures. If he came across a Kelpie herd, he reckoned he might be done for as they were known for ripping their victims apart, leaving nothing but entrails behind. 

Hermione hadn’t found any Runes for those, and the only known way of subduing them was to use a Placement Charm to strap a bridle around the water-monster’s head. He had practiced the Charm, but he had no idea where the hell to find a bridle - it wasn’t like Hogwarts had any stables - and he figured there was no way Accio would bring him one in time.

Harry felt a clutch of trepidation when he saw what appeared to be another swarm of creatures up ahead. His gills flared with a sigh of relief when he saw they were Grindylows. They could be very dangerous in swarms with their razor sharp teeth and clawed fingers, but at least his Runes would protect him from those. 

He swam right through their midst and the swarm parted as they fled away from him, screeching. Finally, he saw what looked like misshapen houses built from boulders in the near distance and was sure he it must be the Merpeople’s village.

Harry put on a burst of speed hoping to reach the village before anything else untoward could happen. Then Harry saw them... a number of shadowy humanoid figures swimming towards him, trying to cut him off. Harry groaned. He should have known that something else would try to stop him at any cost.

The figures raised their arms, holding... something. Harry’s eyes widened in shock. He tried to dodge what appeared to be half a dozen arrows whizzing towards him, but they were too fast. Four flew right past him, but one ripped through the sleeve of his t-shirt, opening a gash on his shoulder; he almost dropped his wand. Harry only barely managed to avoid being skewered in the belly by the other one, by twisting his torso in the the nick of time. The arrow (?) tore through his t-shirt, slicing through the skin of his abdomen.

Harry grit his teeth in pain as blood seeped from both wounds, clouding in the water. The figures drew nearer, readying their weapons for another shot. His eyes widened in surprise when the dark silhouettes became clearer. What - or who - the hell were they? They were wearing what appeared to muggle diving gear, masks, wetsuits, rubber flippers, even oxygen tanks. 

That’s when Harry realised that the arrows weren’t arrows, they were spears from spearguns, of the sort he’d seen in a documentary the teacher had shown the class in primary school once. But what sort of wizard would be trying to kill him with muggle gear? He could hardly imagine that a pureblood like Mr Malfoy would hire muggles to do the job.

They raised their weapons again, having quickly reloaded. Harry didn’t care who they were, he wasn’t going to let them assassinate him. Professor Moody had told him to be prepared to kill if it was necessary to save his life, and knew this was such a moment, no matter how much the idea of killing someone repulsed him.

“Bombarda Maxima,” he mouthed for the second time, aiming the blasting curse into their midst.

The explosion sent shockwaves through the water, even knocking Harry himself back. At least three of the divers appeared to have been knocked out or killed by the blast. Three spears immediately followed, shot by the divers who had managed to escape the curse in time.

Two of the spears went widely off their mark as the divers were probably still dazed by the explosion, but the other came right at Harry and grazed his thigh, opening another wound. The divers had shaken off their dizziness and were swimming even closer, two of them now brandishing what appeared to be swords, blades and jeweled hilts glinting in Harry’s wand light, while the other reloaded his speargun. 

The design of swords seemed somehow familiar to Harry, but he didn’t let the divers get close enough to use them. 

“Diffindo,” Harry mouthed several times as he slashed his wand. 

A scream echoed through the water as the sword hand of one of the divers separated from his wrist, blood billowing from his stump. The other one was nearly on Harry now as another spear zipped past Harry’s head close enough to give him a haircut. That momentary distraction was all the other diver needed to get the drop on Harry.

The sword came right at Harry, nearly stabbing him in the gut. That’s when he recognised the blade as being similar to the one sitting on the wall in Dumbledore’s office - the Sword of Gryffindor which Harry had obtained in second year. Harry barely managed to escape being stabbed by twisting again, another gash opening across his abdomen. 

Harry was prepared for the pain though this time. He dodged the swipe of the sword aimed at his neck and seized the diver’s wrist. They both grappled for a moment, each trying to disarm the other; Harry kicked out, landing a sharp blow right in the diver’s belly. The diver was briefly incapacitated, the air knocked out of him. 

Harry slashed his wand ‘yelling,’ “Diffindo” again. The diver’s sword arm separated at his elbow and Harry grabbed at his mask, hoping to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, the long pointy nose and features of a screaming goblin became apparent. 

Having taken that goblin-diver out of the equation, Harry looked around wildly for the last one with a speargun. He spotted the other goblin swimming out of range rapidly. There was no way Harry was going to give the goblin another chance to kill him; he aimed his wand and shot another blasting curse at him. 

The goblin-diver was caught in the shockwave of the explosion and floated towards the surface of the lake. Dead or knocked out, Harry didn’t care at that moment. He sped away and dove into a meadow of long yellowy grasses. Gritting his teeth in pain, Harry tore off ragged strips of his t-shirt, binding the wound on his arm with one, and strapping the others around his middle to stem the bleeding from his abdomen.

Gills flaring angrily, Harry pushed on towards the village and hoped the merpeople weren’t going to give him any grief. He was startled to see that they looked nothing like he had imagined; they were silvery grey with wild looking dark green hair, yellowy eyes and jagged looking teeth.

The several Harry passed backed away from him when they saw his furious features as he brandished his wand at them. Harry swam on through the rough hewn houses, paying no attention to the gardens of water weeds and the merpeople emerging from their dwellings to watch him passing through.

Harry swam into what appeared to be the village square, his heart hammering the wall of his chest so hard that he half expected it to burst out. A crowd of singing merpeople flourishing spears and tridents surrounded the base of a gigantic statue of a merperson carved from solid rock.

They parted quickly and got out of his way, looking shocked at Harry’s expression of rage. Harry spotted them, three figures bound to the base of the statue with slimy ropes of weeds. Lavender was already gone and Harry reckoned Viktor had already collected her. Still tied to the statue were Hermione, Gabrielle, and Cho, their faces deathly pale, eyes closed, hair floating around their heads like clouds.

Panic gripped Harry’s chest when he saw no sign of Fleur and Cedric.

What if water-sprites or Grindylow had got them - or goblin assassins? Harry couldn’t bear the thought that maybe one of them had been swallowed whole by the Sea Serpent and that he had possibly blasted them with the Bombarda. 

Harry peered around frantically, hovering near the three captives. The merpeople hung back, appearing to know better than to get in his way or hurry him along.

After several minutes of dread, Harry heaved a ‘sigh’ of relief when he saw Fleur, scratched and bleeding, swimming toward him; he noticed numerous bite marks as well.

“What happened?” Harry mouthed. Fleur seemed to understand him, her features looking a bit stretched by the surface tension of the bubble surrounding her head.

“Ze Grindylows - so many!” she replied, her voice sounding muted as it rippled through the water. “And ze ozzers?”

“Viktor’s already been here,” Harry answered. “But there’s no sign of Cedric. You should take the hostages and go - I need to look for him.”

“Non!” said Fleur, shaking her head, her long silvery hair flowing. “We mus’ both go! You are bleeding badly. Ze ‘eadmasters ... we will tell them, and zey must find heem.”

Harry peered at his makeshift bandages, shocked to see how much blood had seeped through, clouding up the water. As he began to feel a bit lightheaded, Harry knew Fleur was right, but it gnawed at his gut to leave a man behind.

“Alright then,” Harry mouthed resignedly, slashing his wand at the weedy ropes binding the hostages without another word. 

He grabbed Hermione and Cho and made to swim to the surface, but Fleur, who had Gabrielle under one arm, slipped her other arm under Cho’s shoulder. Together, Harry and Fleur ascended, carrying their own hostages and Cedric’s between them.

Everyone gasped and sputtered when their heads broke the surface as the hostages came out of their bewitched sleep. There was much splashing as Harry and Fleur tried to make for the shore with all three of them. 

“I’m alright, Harry,” Hermione gasped, spitting out lake-water, “You can let me go - I’m wide awake now. I can swim for myself.”

“Alright then,” said Harry, taking Cho - who still looked dazed - from Fleur. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Harry swam for the lakeshore with Cho, Hermione at his side, and Fleur nearby with Gabrielle clinging to tightly to her sister. As they neared the platform they spied a sodden Dumbledore, water dripping from his saturated beard, and Madame Maxime stripping off her robes, preparing to dive into the lake after their students. 

The relief on the headmaster’s faces couldn’t be more profound when they spied their charges approaching the platform. Each of them hauled a hostage onto the platform from their students’ arms.

“Cedric!” Harry shouted, his chest heaving from exertion and anxiety, “He’s still down there...”

“No Harry,” said Dumbledore, “Mr Diggory is quite safe now, I can assure you. I retrieved him myself from the clutches of an unusually large swarm of Grindylows, and was just about to return to the lake for...”

“Someone probably tossed a load more into the lake,” said Harry furiously, cutting Dumbledore off as he and Hermione clambered onto the problems. “Maybe the goblins...”

“Goblins? ... What goblins?” asked Dumbledore, looking extremely surprised.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked when she saw the state of him. “There’s blood everywhere!” 

Dumbledore and Madame Maxime both looked shocked when they saw how much blood was running down Harry’s legs from the barely covered gashes on his abdomen and dripping from his upper arm and thigh, pooling on the platform. 

Harry looked down at himself, feeling woozier than ever as the adrenaline began to ebb. Dumbledore caught Harry as he collapsed, then swept up Harry into his arms and sprinted down the gangplank to the shore, Hermione running after them wiping tears from her face. 

They burst into the tent to find Madam Pomfrey still dabbing Essence of Dittany onto Cedric’s many bites and claw-marks.

“Good Heavens!” she screeched, bolting upright from leaning over Cedric. “Get Mr Potter on the table now!”

Dumbledore lay the unconscious Harry down carefully on the surgical table and stood back as Madam Pomfrey poured the entire bottle of Dittany Essence onto his deep gashes. Then she grabbed a towel and soaked up as much blood as possible before waving her wand over Harry muttering incantations.

“Miss Granger,” she called out, “on the bench beside you - the Blood Replenishing potion, quickly!”

Still crying, Hermione grabbed the bottle right next to her and darted across to the surgical table. She watched, on the verge of hyperventilating as Madam Pomfrey poured a little bit into Harry’s mouth and then a bit more. Madam Pomfrey continued to drizzle small amounts of potion at regular intervals into Harry’s mouth. 

Finally, after a few minutes, Harry sputtered, potion dribbling from his lips. He tried to push himself up as he came to.

“Wh...what happened?” he asked as the interior of the medical tent spun around him. “What’s that awful taste in my mouth.”

“Lie back down, Mr Potter.” said Madam Pomfrey. “You lost a lot of blood and passed out. You’ll be downing a lot of that ‘awful’ potion for the next few hours, and then you’ll be spending the rest of the day and the night in the hospital wing.

“But the goblins...”

“You can tell us all about it Mr Potter, but I must insist that you lie back down.”

Harry was so dizzy, he didn’t resist as Madam Pomfrey put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Resting his head back against the pillow which Madam Pomfrey placed under it, Harry began to regale everyone with his story. 

Dumbledore and Hermione weren’t the only ones looking shocked; Dora had been dabbing Essence of Dittany on Fleur’s injuries, and her face grew darker and darker as Harry’s tale continued.

“...the only thing I don’t get,” said Harry as he was concluding his tale, “is why goblins would be wearing muggle scuba-diving equipment.”

“Because goblins who have magical abilities aren’t allowed wands by the Ministry,” said Hermione before anyone else had a chance to reply. “Goblins are like humans in all the ways that matter. Most don’t have any inherent magical abilities - the magic they have is largely due to their artifacts - but some goblins do. So without access to wands or much magic of their own, they’re forced to rely on Muggle Technology for a lot of things.”

“That makes sense,” Harry muttered, thinking back to his visits to Gringotts; the goblins had by and large seemed to be attired in modern muggle business suits.

“Bagman!” Dora hissed when Harry had finished. “I’ll bet you anything that Bagman had something to do with it!”

Professor Dumbledore rubbed at his furrowed brow and sighed. It was one thing to consider the possibility of the involvement of outside forces unrelated to Voldemort, and another thing altogether to have some of it confirmed. Sea Serpents, Water-Sprites, and Goblin Assassins - none of them were supposed to be in the Black Lake.

“We need to get on this right away, Professor,” Dora went on, scowling. “We need to collect any evidence we can to support Harry’s story...”

“Quite so, Miss Tonks,” Dumbledore agreed. “If you would please accompany me. There is no time like the present.”

Harry watched Dumbledore and Dora exiting the tent while Hermione sat beside him, clasping his hand, his eyelids began feeling heavy again...


	19. In the Serpent's Wake Part 1

“Bloody hell!” Ron moaned when an hour and twenty minutes had gone by and there was still no sign of Harry. “What’s taking so bloody long?”

Neville shrugged, looking extremely anxious; Ginny and Luna were both highly agitated, fidgeting as they perched on the edge of their seats. Parvati would have no doubt been squirming with alarm too, but she was currently with Lavender and Viktor Krum in a tent near the stands.

Krum was the only one who had returned with his hostage within the time limit. After another ten minutes passed, when no one else had returned, Dumbledore dove into the lake and reappeared ten minutes later with Cedric under one arm. But there was still no sign of either Harry or Fleur. Dumbledore looked like he was about to dive back into the lake and Madame Maxime looked like she was preparing to join him.

“Looks like your loser pal snuffed it, Weasleby,” Draco gloated. 

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy,” Ron snarled. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Probably got eaten by a Sea Serpent,” said Draco, laughing. Crabbe and Goyle both sniggered sycophantically.

Ron leapt to his feet, ready to punch that smarmy bastard, but Neville grabbed him.

“Look,” said Neville, pointing out at the lake, “That’s him isn’t it? ... and Fleur too. Looks like they’ve got all the rest of the hostages too.”

Malfoy looked disappointed.

“Hah!” said Ron. “Looks like _you’re_ the loser if you bet on Harry’s death, Malfoy!” 

“We’ll see,” Malfoy sneered. “It’s not over yet, Weasleby.”

The entire stands went quiet as the crowd watched the lake, waiting with bated breath while the last two Champions drew nearer to the shore. When Harry and Fleur finally arrived at the platform and Madame Maxime and Dumbledore had started hauling hostages from their arms the throng let out a collective sigh of relief... mostly.

The Slytherin contingent remained relatively unconcerned either way, and Malfoy openly scowled when Harry and Hermione clambered onto the platform. Ron was about to let out a cheer, but as Harry began talking to Dumbledore, blood started pouring from Harry’s middle, puddling on the platform, and he keeled over.

Malfoy let out a loud whoop as they watched Dumbledore carrying a limp Harry to the medical tent.

“I told you, Weasleby!” Malfoy gleefully crowed. “He’s a goner!”

“Potter’s dead... Potter’s dead... Potter’s dead...” Malfoy began hollering, as if he was trying to coax the rest of the Slytherins into a chant, but only Crabbe and Goyle and a smattering of Slytherins were idiotic enough to join in.

The fourth chant of “Potter’s dead...” were the last words out of Malfoy’s mouth when he was bowled over by Neville.

 _“Harry’s not dead!”_ Neville shouted, punching Malfoy on the nose. “You take that back!”

Ron was taken by surprise, having thought that he would be the first one to get a punch in, but his momentary hesitation ended when Crabbe and Goyle entered the fray. Ron launched himself into their midst, pummeling anyone in reach. 

At least three older Slytherins joined the melee, and when Fred and George managed to push their way through the throng of onlookers they furiously piled on top, pounding away while Ginny and Luna both yelled at everyone to stop. 

Finally, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick managed to make their way through the crowd - who were mostly cheering on the outnumbered Gryffindors - to put a stop to the brawl. 

**“THAT IS ENOUGH!”** McGonagall bellowed, amplifying her voice with a Sonorus Charm. 

All the fighters immediately came to a halt. 

“Right then,” she yelled, “I know who started this ruckus, but who threw the first punch?”

“Erm... That would be me,” Neville moaned miserably, waving a hand from under Crabbe who was still sitting on top of him.

“I am very disappointed in you, Mr Longbottom,” said Professor McGonagall severely, but the barest hint of a twinkle in her eye and the slightest upward curve at the corners of her pursed lips suggested otherwise. “But it was very brave of you to own up to it. Very well, I am afraid that will be twenty points from Gryffindor...”

Then McGonagall turned her hardened gaze and sharp tongue on the rest of the combatants. 

“For the rest of you, that will be ten points lost apiece. Seven Slytherins, and four Gryffindors - you do the math!” she snapped “There will also be five detentions for every participant... and fifty points from Slytherin for Mr Malfoy’s deliberate provocation...”

Cries of “But that’s not fair,” rose from the Slytherins involved in the altercation.

“Care to make that a hundred points, lads?” shouted Flitwick just as Snape managed to break through the crowd.

“Now, now, Filius,” Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed at the diminutive Charms professor, “let us not be hasty until we determine the true cause of this mess. Surely you and Minerva wouldn’t want to be accused of favouritism...”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you of all people!” said Flitwick, bristling angrily.

“And I think _**I**_ will make it a hundred points from Slytherin for Mr Malfoy’s disgusting behaviour!” said McGonagall, drawing herself up haughtily. “Never, in all my years... And perhaps you should check yourself into the hospital wing to have your hearing and eyesight checked, Severus! 

“There are well over two hundred witnesses in the immediate vicinity who will attest to Mr Malfoy’s appalling lack of respect for a possibly fatally wounded student - including me! Everyone saw and heard him attempt to instigate a chant gloating over the fate of Mr Potter. ... I am the deputy headmistress of this school, and I’m not having it!” McGonagall thundered. “... _**Is that clear**_ , Severus?”

“Crystal!” Snape snapped before spinning around in a furious whirl of robes and stalking away through the crowd, which quickly parted to allow the angry professor passage.

Everyone had been so distracted that nobody had noticed Dumbledore and a pink haired girl diving into the lake, joined by a tall Auror with a shaved head. So they were very surprised to have to wait for another hour and a half to find out what on earth was going on.

**~o0o~**

Ludo Bagman tugged at his collar nervously when a very soggy Dumbledore approached the judge’s bench, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake. Percy Weasley frowned in puzzlement at the headmaster.

“What’s going on, Professor?” asked Percy, in an officious tone. “Why can’t we just get this over with? Krum is clearly the winner of this round, isn’t he?” 

“Ah, well, that is a very interesting question indeed, Mr Weasley,” said Dumbledore gravely. “All is not quite as clear as it seems. And perhaps Ludo can help provide some answers...”

Dumbledore raised his bushy white eyebrows at Bagman and Ludo gulped.

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Percy. “What does Ludo have to do with it?”

“Well, for one thing, perhaps Ludo can give us a reason for the presence of a Sea Serpent and Water-Sprites in the Black Lake. None were scheduled for this task...”

“Oh, that’s easy!” said Percy, ignoring Bagman’s frantic waving at him to get his attention. “Either Ludo _or_ I can answer that. The Senior Undersecretary suggested that we add them to this task...”

Bagman cringed and Dumbledore looked shocked.

“After how easily the Champions handled the Dragons, the Senior Undersecretary thought that we should up the stakes a bit - make the Champions actually work for it,” Percy continued, looking very pleased with himself. “And she thought we ought to make them last minute additions to discourage cheating.”

“Indeed!” said Dumbledore, his gaze growing icier by the minute. “And if a Champion had died, after we had made so much effort to minimise the risk of fatalities, what then?”

“Well, Britain is indemnified in that case. All contestants were informed that there were still some risks,” said Percy, who was starting to become annoyed. 

“Mr Potter was neither informed, nor was he a willing participant,” Dumbledore pointed out coldly.

“Well that’s hardly the Ministry’s fault,” Percy snapped. “I don’t see how that changes the outcome of this task.”

Bagman slunk back, as if trying to make himself as invisible as possible, his eyes darting around shiftily.

“Well, then perhaps you or Ludo can tell me why Harry Potter was the _**only**_ contestant targeted by the Sea Serpent and the Water-Sprites.” 

“Er...” Percy was briefly taken aback, but it didn’t last very long. “Now look here, Dumbledore,” he responded indignantly, “you can’t seriously be insinuating that the Ministry had anything to do with that! That’s preposterous! ... They’re just beasts - subject to their own natural instincts! How would the Ministry have any control over that?”

“How indeed, Mr Weasley... How indeed? That is the first sensible point you have raised,” said Dumbledore sadly. “Of that, Madame Maxime has agreed to invite the French authorities to conduct an independent investigation as a third party without any conflicts of interest. I have no doubt that Amelia will consent to the arrangement.

“In any case, the Sea Serpent and the Water-Sprites were hardly the only obstacles targeted specifically at Harry which he was forced to contend with. But on this next question, I doubt the Ministry had any involvement. However, I expect Ludo could offer his counsel, given his acquaintance with a certain... _unsavoury_ element of the Goblin Nation.”

“G-g-goblins?” Bagman stammered, managing to look both surprised and guilty at the same time. “Wh-why would you say that, Dumbledore?”

“Ah, you were witnessed at both the World Cup and in Hogsmeade consorting with known goblin bookmakers... whom are believed to have associations with elements of the goblin criminal underworld.”

“Oh! Th-them,” said Bagman, a bit too brightly. “Just a bit of harmless wagering - all perfectly legal and aboveboard, I can assure you. But what does that have to do with the Second Task?”

“That is another mystery which I intend to solve,” said Dumbledore, “And I have no doubt that Madam Bones will insist on heading up the investigation. ... You see, Auror Shacklebolt and I discovered some evidence of a goblin kill-team - no doubt associated with some of the criminal elements to which I was referring - which attempted to assassinate Harry before he reached the Mer-village...”

“I had nothing to do with that!” Bagman blurted out, looking honestly shocked. 

“Hmm,” said Dumbledore, his expression pensive, “We shall see. If, however, your bookie associates are connected to the criminals responsible for the attempt on Harry Potter’s life, you may still be facing an inquiry to determine the extent of your involvement...”

 _“Come on!”_ Percy sputtered in outrage. “This is getting ridiculous! You’re seeing conspiracies everywhere now, Dumbledore. Ludo’s reputation is unassailable!”

“You really have no idea, do you?” said Dumbledore, smiling for the first time, albeit somewhat wryly. “Well, I’m sure it will all come out in the wash, Mr Weasley. Now, to discuss how this all affects the Second Task...”

“Look,” said Percy sharply, “the decision is clear! Viktor Krum won fair and square.”

“I concur wholeheartedly!” said Karkaroff, his eyes narrowing at Dumbledore.

“No doubt!” Dumbledore retorted. “Though, I fail to see how any of this is fair and square, and I am sorely tempted to call upon the Triwizard Committee for a nullification of all scores for the Second Task and call it a draw...”

“You can’t do that Dumbledore!” Percy barked. Bagman looked like he thought it best to stay out of this entirely.

“Can’t I?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “The rule-book gives any headmaster the right to challenge the results of any event. However, just because I am tempted, does not mean I shall. ... Mr Krum did indeed fulfill all requirements of the Task, and it would be unfair to deprive him of his well earned victory....”

Karkaroff immediately relaxed, though Percy still looked wary.

“So all that remains is to determine how to score the remaining contestants...”

“But they didn’t return within the time limit!” Percy burst out. “They should all be disqualified!”

“And _**yet**_ , of your own admission Mr Weasley, the Ministry saw fit to introduce dangerous elements to the tournament without notifying the headmasters of any changes - a matter which I will be taking up with Cornelius and the Triwizard Committee by the way - which were clearly directed at a single target. So you are hardly in any position to be adhering to previously established rules.

“Not to mention the additional factor of outside forces arrayed against Harry Potter. So at the least, in regards to Harry, the time limit should not be considered a factor. ... However, as it would be unfair to disregard the time factor for a single contestant, I propose the time constraint should be dismissed altogether...”

“Yes... yes! Of course, Dumbledore,” said Bagman, dabbing at his sweaty brow with a hanky. “I quite agree.”

Percy goggled at Bagman in surprise; then he turned towards Dumbledore and opened his mouth as if to object, then shut it again and scowled, apparently thinking better of disagreeing with his colleague.

“Very good!” said Dumbledore, “Olympe, who will be here momentarily, has already indicated her approval of my suggestion... Ah, yes - there she is now...” Dumbledore nodded gratefully at Madame Maxime as she took her seat. “Now, all that remains is for Igor to offer his thoughts on the matter...”

“By all means, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff magnanimously. “You have my consent.”

“Excellent! Then let’s get down to it, shall we?” said Dumbledore. “Olympe was willing to cede the second place position to Mr Potter, given that he was the second to arrive at the hostage site and waited until Miss Delacour also arrived safely - at great risk to his own safety I might add - and was preparing to conduct a search for Mr Diggory until Miss Delacour persuaded him to return with her.

“However, Harry would hear none of it, stating that he might have never made it back with all three hostages without Miss Delacour’s assistance. Therefore, if everyone agrees, I propose that we award both Mr Potter and Miss Delacour a tie for second place, and Mr Diggory third place as he was not able to complete the task.”

Dumbledore paused for everyone to murmur or nod to indicate their assent. Percy didn’t look very happy about it, and he was the last to agree after Bagman enthusiastically offered his support. Which was no doubt an attempt by Bagman to deflect any possible criticism of his role in the turn of affairs.

“Very well then,” said Dumbledore, “Ludo, if you would be so kind as to announce the score.”

Still wiping his brow, Ludo Bagman sighed with relief and picked up his bullhorn. At least he hadn’t lost his shirt on this round...

**~o0o~**

Hermione felt much better now that she knew Harry was out of the woods, but she was still very concerned.

“Are you sure you can manage this, Harry?” she asked.

“Yeah... it’s not like I really care about who won - but I ought to make an appearance with the others.”

“Alright then,” said Hermione dubiously.

Harry groaned dizzily as he sat up in the cot. Hermione put an arm around him to help him up while Madam Pomfrey looked on in disapproval. Pomfrey wasn’t pleased about it, but she had agreed that Harry could join the other Champions when the scores were announced.

Hermione helped Harry stagger outside to be assailed by a roar of cheers and applause from the stands. He blinked in the bright sunlight as he and Hermione stood next to Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor while Bagman’s voice echoed across the grounds of Hogwarts with the results of the Second Task.

“Well done, Harry!” Cedric smiled wanly at Harry when the second place winners were announced and looked very embarrassed. 

Viktor, with Lavender in tow, shook Harry’s hand. “I hear vot happened - I am thinking zat you deserve first place - to defeat a Sea Serpent, zat alone is most deserving...”

Hermione, still practically holding Harry up, smiled proudly at him. Fleur beamed radiantly at them both. Numerous cameras in the stands were flashing.

“Bien joué, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, giving Harry a kiss on the lips. “Zat ees for being so brave and waiting for me.” And then, much to Hermione’s surprise, Fleur gave her a kiss on the lips as well. “And zat is for being my friend, bon ami.”

Hermione blushed furiously, turning redder than Harry. She gave Dora an apologetic look, hoping she wouldn’t be cross, but Dora was just laughing.

“You two oughta see the expressions on your faces - Priceless!” Dora chortled. “Mind you, there’ll probably be loads of pictures...”

**~o0o~**

Grimnut was trembling badly while he waited in his office for Chief Bloodaxe to arrive. He briefly wondered if he should make a break for it, but he was dead for sure if he tried to do a bunk. It was better to take his lumps, even if it did mean being demoted from a top lieutenant to a foot soldier in the Kruella Syndicate.

He didn’t know how it had all gone so wrong. Potter had gone up against one of the best Kill Teams the Syndicate had. He had fought harder and more skillfully than most wizards twice his age. Potter had clearly been trained by a Master highly skilled in non-magical fighting techniques and tactics. 

That was the only logical explanation. Grimnut just hoped that Chief Bloodaxe would see it the same way.

One Executioner dead, three badly injured - one of which was now missing a hand. The other two had been lucky to escape with their lives, and if Potter had been more ruthless and finished the job properly, they would be. 

Thankfully their survival gave them the opportunity to clean up most of the evidence. It would be nearly impossible to link the attack to the Kruella Syndicate in particular - whatever evidence was found could just as easily be attributed the Magmatok Gang or the Ragnagorok Clan, or any of a dozen minor gangs even if the National Inquiry Unit assigned a team of investigators to the task. 

And at least Potter hadn’t come in first. The Syndicate had at least recouped their losses from the the First Task, even if they hadn’t come out ahead by making sure Potter came in last - if at all. So it wasn’t a dead loss, Grimnut reassured himself.

**~o0o~**

Upon flooing back to the Ministry, Ludo Bagman made his way through the labyrinthine passages to the Senior Undersecretary’s office after a rickety elevator ride, still wiping sweat from his forehead. He waved off everyone who tried to stop him and ask about the tournament.

“I’m sure there’ll be something in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, Bentley,” he muttered to a Ministry accountant, hoping that Dumbledore would maintain his propensity for keeping things close to his vest. It wouldn’t do to have all of his accusations spread across the front page of every newspaper.

“Afternoon Margaret,” Bagman said with a nod to the Senior Undersecretary’s secretary upon reaching her office.

“She’s already waiting for you sir,” the secretary beamed.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, forcing his face into something approximating the grin he was known for. 

Bagman swallowed nervously, and halted briefly in front of the Senior Undersecretary’s door. He took a deep breath to steel himself and pushed it open, marching boldly into the lion’s den. Bagman nodded in greeting at the platinum haired Warlock seated in front of the Senior Undersecretary’s desk.

“Afternoon, Lucius, Dolores,” Bagman took another deep breath. “I think we’ve got a problem...”


	20. In the Serpent's Wake Part 2

“Pomfrey should reserve a bed in here for you!” Ron chortled at Harry. “Seems like you’re always in here for something or other.”

Hermione glared at Ron and was about to yell at him for being so callous when Neville got a word in edgewise.

“But we’re both just glad you’re alive, Harry! We were really worried that you might actually die.”

“Yeah!” said Ron, nodding and getting more serious. “And Malfoy was gloating about it. I was going to punch him but Neville beat me to it. He socked Malfoy right on the nose. You should’ve seen him... Neville was bloody brilliant!”

“But then Ron jumped in to help me when Crabbe and Goyle piled on,” said Neville, turning pink at Ron’s high praises. “We lost a lot of points for Gryffindor though!”

“Who cares!” Ron retorted. “It was bloody worth it! And besides, Malfoy and his lot lost loads more for Slytherin!” Ron grinned again. “Fred and George helped us out - there were like, ten of them and only four of us!”

“So _that_ was why Malfoy was in here with a bloody nose and a black eye a little while ago,” said Harry, grinning back at Ron. “I wondered what that was all about.” 

Hermione frowned, looking a bit torn. “Well, it’s all well and good you both sticking up for Harry, but you really shouldn’t have been fighting. Someone could have got seriously hurt.”

Ron choked out a cough which sounded suspiciously like, _“Third year!”_

Hermione flushed, remembering how she had slapped Malfoy when he had been mocking Hagrid for crying about Buckbeak being sentenced to death. Harry raised his eyebrows at her and gave her a little smirk.

“Oh, shut up!” said Hermione, swatting him on the shoulder.

“Ooow!” moaned Harry teasingly. “I’m not Malfoy!” 

Ron and Neville peered at each other slightly awkwardly. Neville gave Ron a little nudge as if to suggest that it might be time to leave, but Ron let his curiosity get the best of him.

“Er... Is it true Harry? Did you really fight a Sea Serpent?”

“Yeah, I did actually. How did you know?” asked Harry

“Malfoy,” said Ron. “That’s more or less how it all started. When you were gone so long, Malfoy said you’d got eaten by a Sea Serpent.”

“Oh!” said Harry, shooting Hermione a dark look. 

“It might be a coincidence, Harry,” she said worriedly. “Malfoy could have just made a lucky guess. You shouldn’t read too much into it.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “I suppose, if Draco’s father really _is_ involved with Bagman or someone else high up at the Ministry, he could have told Draco. He did tell Draco all about the tournament before anyone else was supposed know, after all.”

Neville caught Madam Pomfrey’s steely gaze and gulped. He gave Ron another little nudge. Ron shot him an annoyed look.

“Erm, maybe we should let Harry get some rest,” said Neville. Ron suddenly got the hint and spotted Madam Pomfrey glowering at them.

“Oh, er... Right! I suppose you can tell us the rest of what happened later, Harry.”

“Yeah, of course. No problem!”

“Bye Harry,” said Neville.

As Neville and Ron departed the hospital wing, Hermione swiveled around to give Madam Pomfrey a hard stare as if daring the school nurse to turf her out, but she was surprised to see Madam Pomfrey smiling shrewdly at them.

“Well, Mr. Potter, it is time for your Blood Replenishing potion...”

Harry groaned and made a face.

“...and I do believe it is time for lunch,” Pomfrey continued, “You must keep up your strength to maximise your recovery. I presume you missed breakfast this morning!” She gave Harry a stern questioning look.

“Er, yeah, actually,” said Harry nervously, wondering if she was going to be cross with him. “To be honest, I felt a bit too sick to eat.”

“I would be very surprised if you hadn’t, Mr. Potter. Very well, I shall send for a House-Elf to bring you both a lunch tray.”

“Thank you Madam Pomfrey,” said Hermione, feeling relieved, and very hungry.

“Not at all, Miss Granger,” said Madam Pomfrey. “I would hardly be a very good Healer if I didn’t feed up my assistant now, would I?”

“Oh, er...” Hermione wasn’t really sure how to respond to that.

“You are going to make sure Mr. Potter takes his Blood Replenishing potion on the hour every hour aren’t you? And you will inform me if Mr. Potter requires anything else, will you not?” 

“Oh, yes! Of course I will!” Hermione nodded vigorously.

“Very good!” said Madam Pomfrey briskly. “I shall be in my office should you need me, and your lunch will be arriving shortly.” 

“Brilliant!” said Harry, grinning at Hermione as Madam Pomfrey marched back to her office, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

**~o0o~**

Draco Malfoy fumed as he picked at his lunch, not feeling very hungry. It was so unfair! Not only did he have five detentions, he had also personally lost Slytherin a hundred and ten points, just because Weaselby and Longbottom couldn’t take a joke. And even worse, Potter and his pet Mudblood were still alive!

Draco savagely speared a piece of steak and gnawed on it just to give himself an excuse to grit his teeth. He had been so sure the Sea Serpent would eat Potter and he had been hopeful it would get Granger as well. 

Despite his father’s schemes, Potter kept getting lucky somehow. Draco tried to mollify himself with the thought that his Killing Curse and Cruciatus Curse were improving every day. If the Third Task didn’t finish off Potter, he’d do it himself. As for the Mudblood - he had other plans for her now... 

“You gonna eat that?”

“Huh?” Draco snapped out of his reverie to see Goyle staring blankly at him.

“Your steak!” said Goyle thickly. “It’s the last piece on the table. You gonna eat it?”

“It’s all yours,” said Draco, pushing his plate towards Goyle. Then he got up fron his seat and marched out of the Great Hall.

**~o0o~**

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones washed down her kippers and toast with a cup of tea, then dabbed at her lips with a white linen napkin. She was just about to clear up and get back to work when there was a knock at the door and her secretary poked her curly head through.

“Sorry to disturb you Ma’am! It’s the Minister and Dumbledore to see you. Are you available?”

“Yes, yes! Of course!” said Madam Bones in a clipped voice. “Send them in.”

Madam Bones lifted her monocle from her mahogany desk and screwed it firmly into place. She peered shrewdly at the Minister and the Headmaster of Hogwarts as they entered her office. There were less twinkles in Dumbledore’s eyes than was usual, and Fudge was scowling and twirling his lime-green bowler hat nervously. They were clearly disturbed.

“Good afternoon, Cornelius, Albus. Please, sit - would either of you like some tea?”

“That would be delightful, Amelia,” said Dumbledore as he took a seat.

“Oh, er... Yes, alright. Thank you,” said Fudge. 

“So, to what do I owe this visit?” asked Madam Bones as she poured everyone cups of tea.

Dumbledore added a teaspoon of honey and a twist of lemon to his tea and took a sip. Fudge added a sugarcube and a splash of cream to his own before beginning.

“Hm...ahem!” Fudge cleared his throat. “I would like you to open an investigation, Amelia. ... But it shall have to be taken with great care, as Dolores, Ludo, and possibly Lucius Malfoy are all to be subject to certain aspects of the investigation, as will be criminal elements of the Goblin Nation.”

“Good Heavens!” Madam Bones’s monocle fell into her teacup with a splash when she raised both eyebrows in shock. 

“Does this have anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament perchance?” she asked as she retrieved her monocle and wiped it on her linen napkin.

“Indeed so,” Dumbledore replied, taking another sip of tea. “The Second Task has been tampered with and Harry Potter was very nearly murdered.”

“And you believe that two senior Ministry officials, a Warlock with a proxy on the Wizengamot, and Goblin criminals are all involved?” Madam Bones gave Dumbledore a skeptical look. “That seems quite a stretch - even for you, Albus!” 

“Well, Percy Weasley, assistant to the Senior Undersecretary, and Ludo Bagman himself confirmed that at the very least, Dolores and Ludo had conspired to alter elements of the Second Task without informing the headmasters. I will of course also be addressing my concerns to the Triwizard Committee later today.

“And Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks will be providing you with physical evidence of Goblin involvement this afternoon. Whether all conspired together or separately remains to be seen.”

“And Warlock Malfoy, what does he have to do with all of this?”

Fudge drained the rest of his tea with a gulp and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Well, erm... ahem...” he began nervously. “Until very recently, Lucius and I... well, let’s just say we had a certain understanding, and after the whole Crouch debacle, we...erm, parted company. Dolores however, is close to the Malfoy family and Lucius continues to have her ear. I wouldn’t be so concerned, but I have come to question Lucius’s accounting of his involvement with You-Know-Who during the war.”

“Indeed!” said Madam Bones dryly. “I’m glad to see that you are not wholly immune to common sense, Cornelius.” 

“Er... quite!” Fudge gave her a sheepish little smile. “Better late than never, right?”

The upward curl of the corners of the dour looking square-jawed witch’s lips suggested the barest hint of a smile.

“Quite so, Cornelius. Well then, I shall await the evidence provided by Kingsley and Auror Tonks this afternoon, and I’ll put an undercover task-force together. I presume that Head Auror Scrimgeour is to be kept out of the loop due to his own ties to Dolores?”

“That would be a wise course of action,” Dumbledore agreed, twinkles returning to his eyes. “There is just one other thing - if you would allow the French authorities to conduct an independent investigation of the Sea Serpent and Water Sprites...”

Madam Bones’s monocle fell in her tea again. 

“Sea Serpents and Water Sprites?” she sputtered, “In the Tournament? Why didn’t you say so to begin with? All measures were taken to minimise the risk this time - that alone is enough to warrant an investigation of Ludo and Dolores.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Dumbledore as he serenely took another sip of tea. “However, the creatures appear to have posed no threat to any of the other contestants - only to Harry Potter. ... Madame Maxime assures me that the French Authorities are willing to perform an independent investigation to determine if the creatures themselves were tampered with in any way. All their findings would be turned over to you.”

“Yes - yes! Very sensible, Albus.” Madam Bones nodded as she wiped off her monocle yet again and wondered if she shouldn’t just get a pair of half-moon spectacles and be done with it.

**~o0o~**

Severus Snape stormed through the drafty stone corridors of Hogwarts, his sallow face a mask of fury, his black robes billowing, looking very much like a hungry, angry vampire seeking prey, Flitwick and McGonagall’s dressing-down still burning in the pit of his stomach.

For the umpteenth-thousandth time Snape wondered why he had ever allowed himself to be talked into helping to protect James Potter’s son. 

Harry Potter was a constant reminder of James Potter - arrogant, attention-seeking, contemptuous, self-righteous, the spitting image, stealing Lily right out from under his nose... Lily had belonged to Snape, not to Potter. Snape had lost her twice, once to Potter, and again to the Dark Lord’s wand. 

If Harry Potter had never been born, Lily would still be alive today, and Snape would have had the opportunity still to show her whom she really belonged with. 

Snape had never even wanted to protect James or his son - he would have been just as happy if they were both dead as long as Lily was alive and in his arms. And retribution against the Dark Lord and Wormtail for their part in the death of Lily hardly required protecting the reincarnation of James Potter.

But Dumbledore had manipulated Snape, had used his deep sense of loss at Lily’s death against him, had convinced him that protecting Harry Potter would salve his broken heart. But instead, protecting Potter’s son had proved to be little more than pouring salt and bitter lemon on an open wound. 

It was too late to turn back now; he would complete the task that he had allowed Dumbledore to foist upon him. But Snape was determined to make Harry James Potter pay dearly every step of the way for putting him in this position by living while Lily remained a cold corpse six feet under. 

Snape’s rageful reverie was interrupted by an appalling sight; he spied an undeservedly happy looking couple snogging on an elm-wood bench under a wide bay window.

“Fawcett, Stebbins!” he barked at the startled pair. 

“What did I tell you about open displays of affection at the Yule Ball?” he snarled. “That’s fifty points from Ravenclaw and fifty from Hufflepuff. And if I catch you at it again you’ll both be in separate detentions till the end of the year.”

Fawcett, the Ravenclaw girl, burst into tears and ran down the hall while Stebbins shot Snape a mutinous glare and sprinted after her.

Feeling slightly better, Snape whirled around and stalked back to his dungeon lair to pour himself a stiff drink.

**~o0o~**

As the sun crept lower towards the mountainous horizon, Hermione sighed happily, stroking Harry’s messy black hair. He looked so peaceful as he slept, nightmare free for the time being. And he had been very good, taking his Blood Replenishing potion like clockwork on the hour without any fuss.

Hermione glanced at the cot near the door, where Dora - who was guarding the ward - and Fleur were chatting in hushed whispers.

Her eyes wandered, catching Lavender and Parvati’s bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase sitting next to a box of chocolate frogs from Ginny and Luna and a magazine which Luna had left to keep Hermione occupied while Harry napped.

Hermione lifted _The Quibbler_ from Harry’s bedside table and flipped through the pages, rolling her eyes at an article on the mating habits of Blibbering Humdingers; she snorted mirthfully at an article regaling the health benefits of Crumple-horned Snorkack venom in small doses and shook her head at an article about pig/gorilla/goat/mongoose/human hybrids. 

Then Hermione turned the page and her eyes caught a photograph of tents in flames and hooded Death Eaters at the World Cup. The article which accompanied the photo purported to describe a vast conspiracy of Death Eaters who had escaped prosecution after the war and which threatened to take over the Ministry. 

Perking up with great interest, Hermione began to read. She was so caught up in the riveting article that she almost missed hearing the clock on the wall strike five o’oclock. Hurriedly, Hermione set The Quibbler back down on the table and pressed her lips to Harry’s. 

Harry stirred, returning Hermione’s kiss, his eyelids fluttering open.

“Time for the next dose of Blood Replenishing potion, is it?” he said with a grin.

**~o0o~**

Clouds crawled across the darkening sky, blocking out the stars, and raindrops began pattering on the decaying rooftop of a manor slowly falling into ruin. The wind picked up, howling under the eaves and driving the increasingly heavy rain against the broken and boarded up windows.

Inside the manor, the bowing stairs creaked under the feet of a rat-like man slowly climbing up to the next landing, brushing aside cobwebs as he passed. The man was trembling, afraid to be the bearer of bad news, and hoping the Dark Lord would see the news more as a boon than not. 

“M-Master?” he called through the open doorway, warily eyeing the enormous viper coiled near the threshold.

“Enter, Wormtail,” said the high, cold voice of the Dark Lord.

Wormtail scurried inside and prostrated himself before the threadbare armchair that contained the homunculus which his Master was currently inhabiting. 

“What news have you of the Second Task, Wormtail?”

“My - my Lord! Harry Potter still lives. Th-there is rumour that he almost died, only barely survived an encounter with a Sea Serpent.”

“So, Potter survives yet again!” the Dark Lord hissed venomously. “Dementors, Dragons, Sea Serpents. The boy grows in power with every passing year. I cannot allow this to continue, lest the Prophecy come to pass. Yet I cannot openly make a move until I have regained my true form and my followers. 

“As much as it pains me to do so, it shall indeed have to be done with another. Go forth and bring me a boy, Wormtail - a Pureblood boy unsullied by adolescence. We shall use an alternate ritual upon the next full moon at midnight. Then I shall call back the unfaithful and see who is brave enough to return.

“But do not forget, you must return each day and milk Nagini to nourish my current form.”

“Of course, Master! It shall be done.” Wormtail quivered with eagerness and relief. 

The alternate ritual did not call for the flesh of a servant, and a tingle of excitement rushed through his veins at the prospect of killing again. Having milked Nagini early that morning, Wormtail chose to waste no time scouting for a young Pureblood. 

He already had some ideas of which Pureblood families might have some young children, and it would take surveilling and planning to accomplish the task without being caught. 

“I shall leave at once Master and return in the morning.”

“Very good, Wormtail,” said the Dark Lord, sounding impressed with the diligence of his servant.

Gleefully, Wormtail hastened back down the stairs and slipped on his long, black cloak. Out the front door he went and pulled his hood over his head, unfazed by the downpour and the flicker of lightning in the distance.


	21. Cursed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who have read a couple of my other stories will no doubt recognise a number of very similar elements in the last scene, though there are a number of differences as well - enough to hopefully make it feel fresh. It is, like a few of the other scenes in this story, a headcanon plot-point which I couldn't resist using in the context of this version of the Triwizard Tournament too.

Hermione woke with a start, briefly disoriented before remembering that she was sleeping in a bed beside Harry’s in the hospital wing. She bolted upright, worriedly peering at the source of her disrupted sleep. 

Harry was tossing and turning, his covers twisting around him as he thrashed, hissing as if he were speaking in Parseltongue and his fringe was damp with cold sweat. 

He was clearly having a nightmare or vision involving Voldemort. Feeling a bit panicky, Hermione briefly considered waking Madam Pomfrey whose quarters were located next to her office, or Dora who was sleeping in a bed by the entrance of the infirmary, then decided to try waking Harry herself first.

“Harry! Harry!” she said quietly, touching his shoulder.

“Harry, wake up!” she said a little louder, giving him a little shake.

Harry muttered something about Wormtail, his eyelids still closed. He almost appeared to be struggling to achieve consciousness.

“Harry! Please wake up,” she begged. 

Then it hit her. Hermione knew what to do. She leaned over and kissed Harry’s dry lips, stroking his bird’s-nest of hair. Harry’s eyes shot open and Hermione released his lips from her own as he gasped for breath.

“Bloody hell!” Harry groaned, rubbing at his clearly painful scar. “It’s like...” Harry frowned, apparently trying to think of a good metaphor. “It’s like swimming through tar to get out of that. ... Thanks Hermione! I could’ve been under for ages if you hadn’t snogged me.” 

“You were having another nightmarish vision of Voldemort, weren’t you?”

Harry nodded then groaned and clutched at his scar again.

“Should we get Dumbledore?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“No!” said Harry, shaking his head and wincing again. “No need! It wasn’t anything he needs to know immediately - it can wait till morning. Just remind me if I forget! ... Voldemort was angry about the Second Task, and still angry about losing Crouch and not having anyone to kidnap me. He was making a plan with Wormtail - but that part’s hazy... I don’t know what his plan was...”

“Everything alright over there?”

Hermione turned around to see the shadowy figure of Dora sitting up in her bed.

“It’s Harry,” she said, “He’s had another one of those nightmares - you know, the _real_ sort with Voldemort.”

“Blimey!” Dora muttered. “Should we get Dumbledore?”

“Harry says it can wait till morning.” 

“Is ‘e sure about that?”

“Yeah!” Harry called out in a hushed tone. “It’s nothing urgent - really!”

“What about Pomfrey then?” asked Dora.

“Er...” Harry looked uncertain and rubbed at his scar again.

Hermione glanced at the vials of potion on his nightstand and saw what she was looking for. 

“It’s alright, Dora. Harry just needs a pain potion... I think.” Hermione peered at Harry again. “What about a sleeping potion too? ...maybe a Dreamless Sleep potion? ...or a Calming Draught?” 

“Erm...” Harry frowned pensively. “I think I’ll be okay now,” he said after a moment passed. “A pain potion ought to do it.” 

Hermione nodded and passed him a vial. Harry swigged it down in one gulp and looked relieved after about thirty seconds, then he smiled wryly.

“Yeah, that should do it. I’m just glad I don’t need any more Blood-Replenishing potions.”

“Hmm... As Madam Pomfrey’s assistant, I’m sure I can find something else dreadful tasting for you,” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows. 

“No thank you! I’m fine!” Harry grinned.

“Well, if you don’t want any more potions, I’ll have to prescribe something else.” Hermione kept up the little game, trying to maintain a straight face. “You look like you need _something_ to settle your nerves, so how about a cuddle then?” .

“Er...” Harry glanced at Dora.

“Don’t mind me,” Dora chortled. “I’m just watchin’ the door, and I say you oughta follow your Healer’s orders, Harry.”

“Yeah, okay!” Harry let out an exaggerated sigh. “If you insist, Madam Granger, I sup _pose_ I could let you cuddle me...” 

“Ow!” he yelped when Hermione gave him a little swat on the shoulder. “Whatever happened to the Hippo... er... the Hippopotamus Oath?” 

“It’s the Hippo _cratic_ Oath!” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “And if you insist on disobeying Healer’s orders, you can just forget about cuddles tomorrow night when we’re alone too.”

“Okay - alright! You win, Madam Granger!” 

Harry grinned again and moved over to make room for Hermione who was giggling now, unable to keep up her straight face any longer. Hermione lay on top of the covers and snuggled right up against Harry, curling an arm around his waist and giving him a kiss on the cheek before resting her bushy head on his shoulder. 

A little smile crept to Hermione’s lips when she heard Harry sighing contentedly, and in no time at all they were both fast asleep again.

**~o0o~**

“Hmm...” Madam Pomfrey peered at Harry through narrowed eyes, her lips pursed. “Given how close you came to death yesterday, I’d like to keep you under observation the rest of the weekend Mr. Potter.”

“I’m fine now, really!” Harry peered back at Pomfrey pleadingly, then he gave Hermione a “Help-me” sort of look.

Hermione bit her lip, not sure if she should push her luck with Madam Pomfrey, but her desire to have a bit more privacy with Harry won out; she and Harry had both been very embarrassed when Pomfrey had found them still curled up together earlier that morning. 

“Er... What if I promise to look after Harry the rest of this weekend?” she asked Pomfrey. “You did say I could be your assistant, and I promise I won’t let him exert himself.” 

“Hmm...” This time Pomfrey arched her eyebrows as she peered at Hermione cannily. “That depends on what you mean by ‘exerting himself.’”

Hermione’s cheeks turned a deep rosy pink. 

Harry stared blankly at Madam Pomfrey and Hermione, not sure what was going on. Then Pomfrey seemed to relent.

“Wait here for a moment, Miss Granger.” Pomfrey strode back to her office. 

Harry shot Hermione a questioning look while Pomfrey was gone, but Hermione kept mum, still blushing. Moments later Pomfrey returned and handed Hermione several vials of potion.

“Those are for Mr. Potter to help him rebuild his strength. Give him one tonight at bedtime and the other two are for tomorrow - one at breakfast, and the other again at bedtime.” 

Then Pomfrey handed Hermione another potion. “This one is for you - just in case you and Potter were planning on ‘exerting yourselves.’”

Hermione let out a little “eep” and her rosy cheeks turned scarlet; she quickly put the vial in her pocket. Harry gawked, still feeling utterly clueless as he quickly dressed behind the curtain when Pomfrey left them both to it. When he was finished dressing, Hermione grabbed his hand and marched him out of the hospital wing. 

“Er... what was that all about?” he asked her, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“You wanted to see Professor Dumbledore didn’t you?” said Hermione curtly, ignoring his question. “Now focus on what’s important so you can remember every little detail.”

“Er... Okay?” Harry glanced back at Dora who was trailing behind them. Dora shrugged, but Harry could have sworn he saw the barest hint of a smirk on her otherwise neutral features.

As it turned out, Harry ended up being glad that Hermione had kept quiet the rest of the way to Dumbledore’s office. It really had allowed him time to gather his thoughts and recall as much of his sleeping-vision as possible.

“...but that’s it,” Harry concluded after giving Dumbledore everything that he’d seen. “I’m still not sure where they’re holed up, and I didn’t get the details of their plan other than that it doesn’t seem to involve me anymore. That part was a bit fuzzy.”

Dumbledore stroked his long silvery beard pensively, his crystal blue eyes gazing at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Fawkes let out a little trill and ruffled his feathers. Then Dumbledore nodded.

“Thank you, Harry. Under the circumstances you did very well indeed. Engaging in Legilimency or Occlumency when one is sleeping is exceedingly difficult for even the most experienced - it is not something which can be achieved without much practice, and in many cases it can take years to perfect the technique.

“You, however, have an extraordinary amount of Willpower, a talent which Professor Moody confirmed after testing your ability to shrug off the Imperius Curse with so little effort. It would seem that Barty Crouch Junior was a rather effective teacher - something Voldemort will no doubt come to regret.

“In my estimation, I believe that you could achieve enough Dream-Control to utilise your Legilimency and Occlumency skills - which are coming along nicely, I might add - in a matter of weeks.”

“Seriously?” Harry gaped at Dumbledore, feeling a bit bewildered. To be perfectly honest, he still felt pretty useless at Occlumency and Legilimency. 

“See Harry?” said Hermione excitedly, “I _told_ you that you were doing brilliantly but that it wouldn’t come overnight.” 

“Indeed, Miss Granger is quite correct, Harry,” Dumbledore responded, his eyes twinkling. “And I must say, Miss Granger, that you are exceeding all expectations as well - your ability to focus even under stressful conditions will stand you in good stead when we begin practicing techniques to develop Dream-Control...”

By the time Harry and Hermione left Dumbledore’s office it was getting on for lunch time, and Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Dumbledore was pleased with his progress in Legilimency and Occlumency.

“I dunno Hermione, I think Dumbledore was just trying to make me feel better - you know, to help me build my confidence.”

“Don’t be silly Harry,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Dumbledore wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was true. You’re doing brilliantly!”

“But I’m not even _close_ to being as good as you!” Harry argued, growing frustrated; if there was one thing he hated, it was being coddled when he knew he was rubbish at something.

Hermione came to a dead halt and turned to face him, giving him a glare.

“Harry James Potter, at the end of First Year I told you that you were a _**great**_ wizard! I meant it then, and I mean it now!” she said angrily. “Yes - I may have more _focus_ than you, and yes I even have more knowledge than you - but you have more raw power than I’ll _ever_ have. I still haven’t managed to throw off the Imperius curse more than twice - you can do it every time.

“And look at your Patronus! Dumbledore is supposedly the most powerful Patronus caster in over two hundred years. You’re the _**only**_ wizard I know of who can match him and you were only thirteen when you did - he’s nearly a hundred and fifteen. Eventually you’ll be even more powerful than Dumbledore is, and _**that**_ is why you’re going to defeat Voldemort - not because you know more magic than him - obviously you don’t - but because you’re _**stronger**_ than him!

“Do you remember what else I told you at the end of First Year? Do you?”

“Erm...” Harry gulped, vaguely recollecting something about books. All he could really remember properly was Hermione’s hug - as embarrassed as he had been, he had also been afraid it might be the last hug he would ever get. He wasn’t sure that he could have survived Voldemort without that hug. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Let me refresh your memory, Harry, I said, ‘Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and -’” Hermione paused, her cheeks taking on the same rosy tinge that they had earlier that morning. She took a deep breath and decided she was going to tell Harry what she had been too afraid to say at the time.

“I... er, I was _about_ to say something else,” said Hermione, her features and tone softening, “but I was too scared to. I was going to say, ‘- friendship and bravery... and _love_ ,’... Ginny Weasley isn’t the only girl who ever had a crush on you, you know! But I’d like to think that my crush was based on knowing the _real_ you! ... Not some fantasy knight-in-shining-armour hero! ... But a boy - a boy who was kind to a girl he thought was bossy - a boy who was brave even when he was scared to death - when you leapt on the back of that troll you looked terrified, but you didn’t let that stop you...” 

Hermione trailed off as she looked into Harry’s glistening green orbs, her heart racing. Without another word - in that moment not caring that they were in a very public corridor - she reached both hands around the back of his head and drew him closer - close enough to kiss.

An electric charge shot through Hermione when their lips touched and for a brief, timeless moment the world fell away. A rush of elation flowed through her from head to toe as it had on their very first kiss, stars bursting like fireworks all around her. 

When their lips finally parted Harry’s eyes looked glazed over and a soppy grin was plastered on his face. Panting breathlessly and feeling as giddy as Harry looked, Hermione beamed back at him.

“I love you to bits Harry,” she whispered, “because I know the _real_ you!”

**~o0o~**

When Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall together for lunch, they knew something was up. All eyes were upon them and the Hall filled with whispers and giggles.

Harry glanced at Ron to see a look on his face that he had hoped he’d never see again. Neville’s face turned crimson the moment he saw Harry. Lavender was moaning and had her face buried in both hands; Parvati managed to look both embarrassed and amused at the same time. Fleur was tittering; she waved at Dora. 

Luna was sitting with Ginny at the Gryffindor table looking serene while Ginny was shaking her head, looking torn between fury and laughter. Fred and George took one look at Harry and Hermione and chortled. 

Harry was considering making a run for it and skipping lunch, but Hermione was still clutching his hand tightly. Reckoning that out of the lot, Luna looked the most approachable, Hermione made a beeline for her, dragging Harry along behind.

“What’s going on?” she asked Luna.

“Oh, just another article by Rita Skeeter,” Luna offered nonchalantly, “It’s full of lies of course, but it’s very entertaining.”

“Sure! If you think making us all look like sex-crazed-maniacs entertaining,” Ginny grumbled.

“What are you talking about? Making who look like sex-crazed-maniacs?” Hermione demanded. 

Harry didn’t want to know. He had a very bad feeling about this.

“Here, see for yourself.” Ginny thrust the _Witch Weekly_ magazine into Hermione’s hands.

Hermione’s eyes nearly flew out of her head. At first she felt a hot rush of anger, but as she read through the article she began to giggle, and she had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” Harry wanted to know. “And why is everyone staring at us?”

Hermione’s laughter faded and she looked at Harry anxiously, knowing that he wouldn’t like this one little bit.

“Erm... Here,” she said squeakily, passing him the magazine, her hand trembling.

What the...? _Bloody Hell!”_ Harry’s jaw dropped in horror, his eyeballs glued to the headline and the accompanying photographs. He tore his eyes away and began reading the article.

**Scandal At Hogwarts**  
**Harry Potter’s Secret Harem**

**by Rita Skeeter**

_While canvassing Hogsmeade in search of human interest stories to explore the impact of the Triwizard Tournament on the local residents, intrepid reporter Rita Skeeter’s inquisitive instincts were piqued when discovering older man Harry Potter and his even older soon-to-be wife, Hermione Granger (the plain and ambitious muggleborn riding on Potter’s famous and wealthy coat-tails to improve her lowly status in our noble wizarding society) with two innocent young girls, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley, in a local Tavern notorious for salacious trysts._

_Disturbed by the implications of such unsavoury and inappropriate liaisons with underage girls, the award-winning journalist and her crack research team set out to investigate further the depths of depravity to which Potter and Granger might sink. What we found was even more shocking than one could possibly imagine._

_And if the images captured at the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament’s Second Task are any indication, Potter and Granger appear to have also drawn the French Champion into their circle of lust._

_“Yes, Potter and his fiancée are always hanging out with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil too,” says Millicent Bulstrode, a demure and wholesome fourth year student._

_Lavender Brown is, of course, the girlfriend of none other than Bulgarian Bonbon and International Heartthrob, Viktor Krum. We have no word yet on how he is taking this devastating emotional blow. He is no doubt too grief-stricken to face the public in his shame._

_When seeking to discover the means by which Potter, Granger, and their French Lover are enticing their unsuitably young companions, this reporter discovered that they may be employing the use of the Imperius Curse - which, as everyone knows, is a highly illegal curse in the class of the Unforgivables. The aforementioned Miss Bulstrode assures us that Potter and Granger are extraordinarily skilled in the Dark Arts - both of them shrugging off the effects of the Curse themselves with great ease, and both more than capable of casting dangerous curses._

_“I’m sure that’s how they’re doing it,” Miss Bulstrode went on to say nervously, clearly afraid that she could be Potter and Granger’s next victim. “They’re brilliant in Defence Against the Dark Arts because they’re so knowledgeable about curses - always at the top of the class.”_

_As if that weren’t bad enough, a number of other students have come forward to report that Mr. Potter has an exceedingly rare talent associated with Salazar Slytherin, a notorious Dark wizard long disowned by those who reside in the House named for him at Hogwarts._

_“Everyone knows that Potter’s a Parselmouth,” a wide-eyed young Draco Malfoy informed us. And indeed, a few brave souls such as Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley confirmed this hair-raising information, though some are still too terrified of Mr. Potter to reveal their identities._

_This stunning revelation would appear to indicate that Mr. Potter’s unique Parseltongue abilities may be too titillating and tantalisingly temptatious for young girls to refuse his nefarious advances. Is Mr. Potter a Dark wizard in training, employing his Cunning Tongue to ensnare young victims, only to subdue them with illegal curses, then to share them with his insatiable fiancée and their French Mistress in orgiastic Bacchanalian rituals of debauchery and depravity?_

_One might hope that Headmaster Dumbledore would look into these shocking allegations. But given his encroaching senility, and his own penchant for employing dangerous halfbreeds, it is no wonder that these goings-on have thus far escaped his Eagle-Eye._

Dora giggled uncontrollably when she picked up the paper and read it for herself.

“This is bloody hilarious!” she wheezed, shooting a grin at Fleur who was still tittering and looking as if she wouldn’t mind participating in an orgy at all. 

Ron finally plucked up the nerve to voice his opinion.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” he said in a deeply wounded tone, “Why didn’t you tell me you and Hermione were engaged? ... And how come you didn’t let me in on the orgies?”

Harry groaned and slumped forward on the House Table, seriously considering slamming his head into it a number of times until he was comatose. Why was he always cursed to be the centre of attention?

Lavender and Parvati both shot Ron vicious death-glares, and Ginny flung a ladleful of mashed potatoes across the table which hit Ron square in the face, gobs of it flying everywhere.

“Oi!” yelled Ron angrily, wiping mashed potato from his eyelids. 

“ _I’m_ supposedly in the harem too, you stupid prat!” Ginny snarled. 

Fred and George both burst into loud guffaws and were laughing so hard that they fell out of their seats...


	22. Sweet Revenge

Ron stared at Ginny, gaping at her, mashed potato still covering most of his face, which was growing redder by the second judging by the colour of his ears. For a moment he felt torn between being cross at Harry, angry at Ginny, and confusion. Then Ginny’s point finally seemed to reach its target somewhere in Ron’s frontal lobes.

“Bloody hell!” Ron groaned, sounding horrified. “I’m sorry Ginny! You didn’t really think I wanted to, er... you know, with _you_ , did you?”

“Of course not, dimwit!” Ginny rolled her eyes and huffed. “Though I wasn’t entirely sure for a moment. ... I think you were just thinking about harems and orgies, saw a redhead, and forgot that I’m your sister!”

Fred and George howled with laughter again.

“Good one, Ron!” Fred sniggered, slapping him on the back. “Maybe we should tell Mum to start planning the wedding.”

Ginny rolled her eyes again but otherwise ignored Fred as she continued. “... And I think you forgot that all the other girls supposedly in the ‘harem’ are sitting at this table.” 

“Oh! Er...” 

Ron gulped and peered shiftily at Lavender and Parvati who were still glowering at him, and shot sidelong glances at Hermione, Luna, and Fleur who all looked more amused than anything.

In truth, Ron hadn’t forgotten that at all, but it didn’t seem like a very good idea to admit that he had been hoping that he could convince Harry to let him join in the fun with all of them and Fleur. Neville raised his eyebrows at Ron, giving him an “I-know-exactly-what-you’re-thinking” sort of look.

“Erm, sorry...” Ron mumbled as he picked up a napkin and started wiping the rest of the mashed potato from his face. “Ginny’s right! I wasn’t thinking... I’m an idiot!”

Hoping that would settle the matter, Ron was a bit alarmed when Ginny groaned and looked aggravated again. He heard giggling behind him and gulped, hastily trying to get the last bits of mashed potato off, wondering if a load of girls had come to laugh at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a few other Gryffindor girls in Ginny’s year; one of them was Romilda something or other - he’d never really paid attention.

The gaggle of giggling girls whispered and pushed Romilda-Something-or-Other forward. She grinned awkwardly and cleared her throat.

“Erm... er, Hi Harry,” said Romilda-Something-or-Other brightly, batting her eyelashes in what she clearly hoped was a sexy manner, “We were just wondering if... er... if we could join your harem...”

**~o0o~**

The rest of Saturday after Rita Skeeter’s article could have been worse, Hermione supposed. Yes, whispers, giggles, and some nasty comments followed them around the castle. But besides Romilda Vane and her friends, a few other girls from other Houses had either approached Harry or had struck seductive poses whenever they spotted him passing by in the corridors.

Several girls had even shyly approached Hermione - including Susan Bones surprisingly enough. 

The most startling encounter was when a stunningly pretty, dark-haired, older Slytherin girl - perhaps in sixth or seventh year - had sat down in an armchair next to Hermione’s in the library. The dark-haired girl had glanced around to make sure no other Slytherins were nearby and said in a hushed, sultry tone, “You and Potter can imperius me anytime, Granger!”

Then the Slytherin girl rose to her feet and Hermione gaped at her, speechless, as she slinkily sauntered away wiggling her bum. Dora, who was sitting nearby reading a comic, chortled and shook her head, admiring the view. 

“What was that all about?” asked Harry when he popped out from behind a tall bookshelf and sat next to Hermione, narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin girl who was now at the library entrance. “She wasn’t giving you a hard time was she?” 

Hermione shook her bushy head, still shocked. “No! She wanted to join the harem!”

“Blimey! ... A Slytherin? Really?”

And it was much like that the whole weekend. Hermione really wasn’t sure what to think. She was happy now with knowing that Harry seemed thoroughly perturbed about the whole affair, and that at least she had a good excuse to spend Saturday and Sunday night in Harry’s quarters. She could fall back on her interpretation of Madam Pomfrey’s instructions if anyone pressed her on the issue.

Hermione and Harry never went beyond cuddling and bit of handsy snogging though, Madam Pomfrey’s unspoken interpretation of “exerting themselves” weighing heavily on Hermione’s mind. 

Hermione had peered at the vial of potion which Madam Pomfrey had given her both nights while Harry was cleaning his teeth and changing into his pyjamas in the bathroom, wondering if she actually felt ready to take things to the next level yet, then quickly hiding the vial in her book-bag when Harry returned. 

The idea of going further with Harry was very tempting, but it had barely been a week since they had even “fiddled” with each other for the first time and showered together for the first time, after all. And now Hermione was feeling extremely self-conscious after Rita Skeeter’s article - especially given the whispers of “slut” and “whore” which had reached her ears. 

So she tried her best to put it all out of her mind and just enjoy the cuddling and the kissing and sleeping in the same bed with Harry. Fortunately, both nights Harry had seemed just as pleased to keep things simple as Hermione was, despite his all too obvious arousal. Late Sunday night, after Harry had fallen asleep, she remained awake for a while anxiously thinking about Monday morning. 

Hermione had a choice of waking up early enough for them both to take separate showers and leaving Harry to either relieve himself or take a cold shower, or taking a shower with him again and fixing his “problem” for him with a quick wank. She eventually fell asleep still feeling unsettled.

**~o0o~**

Harry yawned, pleased to find Hermione still nestled beside him when he awoke, wishing she could stay every night. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was early enough for a quick shower and still give Hermione time for her own.

He was more than happy to take care of himself and let Hermione move things along at her own pace, and truth be told he was very unnerved by all this harem stuff. Harry had struggled mightily not to hex to oblivion Zacharias Smith and some of the others who had muttered horrible things about Hermione “under their breath” but loud enough to be heard.

Showered and dressed, Harry returned to his bedroom to find Hermione awake and looking very relieved. 

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek as she made her way to the bathroom...

**~o0o~**

Even though Lavender and Parvati had still sat with Harry and Hermione at mealtimes over the weekend, seeking safety in numbers, they all turned pink when they arrived at the entrance of McGonagall’s classroom Monday morning.

They stood there for a moment awkwardly peering at each other; Harry reckoned everyone was having the exact same problem. Should they enter the classroom first and Lavender and Parvati wait a few minutes before entering - or should Lavender and Parvati go first? 

“Oh, this is stupid! Let’s just go in together,” said Parvati, breaking the silence. “So what if everyone thinks we’re having orgies? They’re just jealous! Bugger them!” 

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and beamed at Parvati. 

“I agree completely!” said Hermione, head held high. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous though.”

Lavender and Harry gave each other a look, both of them still uncertain as they followed Parvati and Hermione into the classroom. 

“So, er... How _is_ Viktor taking things?” Harry asked Lavender as they all took seats. He was pleased to see Lavender looking relieved.

“Oh, he didn’t care at all, thank goodness!” she said. “He said he never believed a word and had a good laugh about it, actually.” 

Feeling better on that score, Harry grinned when he caught Ron’s eye as Ron entered with Neville. Ron’s ears turned bright-red and he quickly averted his gaze. Harry sighed. Ron had been avoiding all of them all weekend. Harry knew that Ron was just feeling thoroughly embarrassed for being a bit of an idiot though and hoped he’d get over it soon.

Seamus and Dean entered next, both grinning at Harry and shooting him thumbs-up as they had every time they had seen him over the weekend. Parvati and Hermione both rolled their eyes and Lavender stuck her tongue out at them.

As Monday wore on, Seamus and Dean eventually got bored with teasing Harry, and Neville kept Ron company who was still too embarrassed to look at anyone. But for Harry and Hermione, their trepidation only grew as Double Potions with Snape and the Slytherins that afternoon drew nearer. 

And knowing how Harry and Hermione were often received by Snape and the Slytherins, Lavender and Parvati’s anxiety increased; they had a bad feeling that they wouldn’t be able to fade into the background as they usually did. Parvati just hoped the plan she’d made with Hermione would at least shut the Slytherins up.

Of course they found a gang of Slytherins standing in a huddle outside the classroom door, though Daphne Greengrass and Pansy were separated from the pack, looking rather disgusted.

“Look, here they come!” Millicent shouted, waving around her copy of _Witch Weekly_. 

The other Slytherin girls who weren’t Daphne or Pansy turned around and giggled. Draco smirked, looking insufferably smug as Crabbe and Goyle sniggered sycophantically beside him. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Parselmouth, Harem Lord Potter himself,” Draco drawled. “How’d you like my interview, Potter? Been putting that Cunning Tongue of yours to use on Brown and Patil have you.” 

Lavender turned as red as a fire-engine. Hermione gave Parvati an almost imperceptible nod; Harry frowned, wondering what that was all about.

“You’re all just jealous!” Parvati scoffed. “Too bad none of the girls would go to the Yule Ball with you Malfoy - getting lonely are you? ... And you’re probably diddling yourself while fantasising about being in Harry’s Harem, aren’t you Bulstrode?” 

“Er...” Harry wasn’t sure he liked where this was heading.

“And I’ll have you know, Harry’s tongue is heavenly!” Parvati added brightly.

To Harry’s great shock, Parvati suddenly turned around and pulled him into an embrace, kissing him heatedly. Eyes wide with panic, he was surprised to see Hermione beaming at the pair of them.

“Oh yes,” Hermione told the Slytherins cheerfully, “I’m more than happy to share Harry. The orgies are wonderful!”

Parvati let go of Harry, giving him a wink before turning and giving Hermione a big kiss on the lips as well. Now that he knew what was going on, Harry couldn’t help grinning at Malfoy’s shocked expression. 

“Yeah, they’re great, Malfoy! Bet you wish _you_ had a harem!”

“You... What...?” Malfoy sputtered, “But... Delacour too?” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You were there - you saw Fleur snog me and Hermione after the Second Task! The picture’s in Bulstrode’s magazine if you’re looking for something to wank to.” 

Malfoy turned on Millicent Bulstrode furiously. 

“I thought you said it was all fake!” he snarled. “You told me you and Skeeter cooked the whole thing up!” 

“She _told_ me it was fake!” said Bulstrode, who looked just as appalled as Malfoy. “Skeeter asked me if I wanted to help her get back at Granger and Potter!”

“Does that look fake to you?” Malfoy snapped, pointing at Parvati who was still snogging Hermione.

“Er... no!” Bulstrode squeaked helplessly. Daphne and Pansy seemed to have caught on though; they were both giggling madly. 

Harry heard a, “Bloody hell!” behind him and turned to see Ron and Neville both staring slack-jawed at Parvati and Hermione. 

“It’s all for show,” Harry hissed under his breath, jerking his head in the direction of the Slytherins.

Ron and Neville both chortled with laughter when they saw the outraged expressions on the Slytherins’ faces and Malfoy and Bulstrode arguing. Then Ron raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, peering at Hermione and Parvati.

“Still... looks like you _might_ get lucky after all, Harry,” he said quietly, smirking.

Parvati and Hermione fell apart in the nick of time. Snape strode up the dungeon corridor, his robes billowing, and scowled at Harry, Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati who were all the picture of innocence. 

“Enough dilly-dallying,” Snape snapped. “Ten points from Gryffindor for dawdling.” 

As everyone entered the classroom, Bulstrode angrily flung the _Witch Weekly_ magazine at Hermione who deftly caught it. Hermione set the magazine on the table and giggled as everyone in class took their seats. Apparently, Snape heard, because he spun around furiously. 

“That’s another ten points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class, Granger...” 

Then Snape’s gaze fell upon the magazine beside her. His lips curled into a venomous sneer; he stalked across the classroom and snatched it off the table.

**~o0o~**

Severus Snape had been seething since the Second Task on Friday, and all the attention that Potter and his little harem had been receiving over the weekend had infuriated him even more. It was James Potter all over again - girls hanging all over him, swooning, throwing themselves at his feet. Potter could have had the lot, but he just had to go and steal Lily!

Skeeter and veracity had a dubious relationship at best, Snape had thought, but there was often a kernel of truth behind her exaggerations. She had been right about Potter and Granger’s little trysts after all, and Snape didn’t doubt for a moment that Potter had drawn to himself a stable of young witches attracted to his wholly undeserved fame. 

That Granger was part of it all was a bit surprising at first, but Snape should have seen it coming; it was always the buttoned-up types who were insatiable when they finally cut loose. Snape hadn’t used or even _thought_ the word “Mudblood” in his head for years - not since Lily had died - but for Granger the word couldn’t be more apt. 

Of _course_ a Filthy Mudblood would fall for Potter - of _course_ a Filthy Mudblood would whore herself out for Potter’s fame and fortune - of _course_ a Filthy Mudblood would revel in debauchery and licentiousness. 

No doubt Potter and Granger’s little sex-cult were already exploring the boundaries of sex-magic; the very thought made Snape want to vomit. 

Dark magic was clean and pure - unfixed and eternal - it was mutable, indestructible, and unencumbered by petty, wanton desires which clouded the mind. Sex-magic was sordid and sloppy - it was chaotic, fleeting and obscene - it was wallowing in Filth and Mud. 

And when he spotted Potter and Granger’s _Witch Weekly_ magazine lying on the table, he knew they were just gloating and rubbing it all in his face. Snape swooped down on the degenerate pair and snatched the magazine from the table.

“That’s another twenty points you’ve cost Gryffindor, Granger,” he said icily, hiding his malevolent glee at having another excuse to punish Potter through his slutty Mudblood. 

“Let’s see,” he sneered, his dark eyes glittering, “What sort of outside reading material do we have here? ... Ah, yes, of course...” he said loudly for the benefit of the class, “No doubt Potter and Granger are eager to flaunt their tawdry affairs.”

“Harry Potter’s Secret Harem!” Snape read off the page, his lips curling into an unpleasant leer as he glanced at Lavender and Parvati as well. “My, my! ... Who knew, Potter? Quite the Lothario aren’t you?”

Snape was slightly taken aback when Potter gave a little nonchalant shrug instead of burning in shame. It was supposed to be a “ _Secret_ Harem” wasn’t it? Hidden to keep Potter’s wholesome reputation intact?

“Well, well, well, quite the little deviant, I see, Potter!” Snape carried on vindictively. “‘Inappropriate liaisons with underage girls...’ - It’s a surprise you aren’t in Azkaban already! ... What’s this - the Imperius Curse? Perhaps I should be calling the Aurors - though I suppose that falls under the purview of the headmaster. 

“Oho - I see that you have been causing Miss Bulstrode to fear for her safety. As her Head of House that _is_ something I can do something about. Let’s make that another thirty points from Granger - I expect her to know better than a hormone addled teenage boy...”

Snape paused and peered at the class and the pair of perverts to see what sort of effect he was having. The Slytherin students were oddly silent, looking sullen and sulky, not laughing uproariously as he had expected. Granger seemed strangely unimpressed, almost bored, and Potter... Potter was staring at him blankly, looking more bewildered than anything. 

“Er... isn’t this supposed to be a Potions Lesson sir?” Potter asked innocently. “It’s just... I thought we were supposed to be learning something important.”

Weasley and Finnegan both sniggered loudly. Snape glared at them viciously.

“That’s ten points apiece, Weasley, Finnegan, for your cheek!” 

Glowering at Potter, “Since you’re so eager to learn, Potter, I think your little harem can do without you for now - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now,” he barked.

“Yes sir,” said Potter politely. “Of course, sir!”

**~o0o~**

Harry struggled to keep a straight face and not burst into laughter as he hauled his bag and his cauldron full of potions ingredients to the front of the class. Seeing Snape’s face turn more and more purple - a shade which Uncle Vernon would be proud of - was worth every point lost.

“The potions recipe is on the blackboard” Snape snarled at the class. “Get to work!”

Snape sat behind his desk, staring at Harry, his features a picture of barely contained rage. Harry ignored him and began mashing up his scarab beetles for the potion. 

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed before Snape was up again, hovering behind Harry, no doubt hoping to make him angry and distract him as usual. Snape leaned over, so close to Harry’s ear that Harry could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck.

“I suppose you think you’re clever,” Snape hissed quietly. “You and that over-inflated head of yours! You may have Dumbledore fooled, but I can see right through you! Your celebrity status means less than nothing to me. ... As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a nasty little hooligan who should be expelled, and if I ever catch you sneaking into my storeroom to steal Boomslang Skin again, I shall make certain that you are!”

“Er... That wasn’t me,” said Harry blandly. “That was the fake Moody - for his polyjuice potion, remember?”

Harry could almost hear Snape grinding his teeth. Then the hot breath on the back of Harry’s neck was gone and Snape was sitting at his desk, glaring at him once more...


	23. Paranoid

There were still two minutes to go before the bell and Harry was already cleaning off his table and packing up his gear having already turned in a flawless potion, much to Snape’s fury. Harry was beginning to suspect that Dumbledore had ordered Snape to lay off docking points from him for inconsequential reasons, as Snape had gone after everyone else but him today. 

In his haste to leave with Hermione, who was waiting for him by the door while everyone else began filing out of the classroom, Harry knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile.

“Crap!” he muttered. 

Harry ducked down under the table to clean up the mess and frowned when he heard Snape bark at Hermione.

“What are you still doing here Granger? Out now! ... Or I’ll dock another ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry heard Hermione’s footsteps quickly exiting the classroom and another, heavier sounding set of footsteps entering the classroom. Cautiously, Harry peeked over the top of the desk, hidden behind his cauldron, and saw Karkaroff. Karkaroff? What was Karkaroff doing here?

Apparently Snape was thinking along the same lines.

“What do you want, Igor?” he snapped. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You know why I’m here!” Karkaroff hissed through gritted teath. _“This!”_

Karkaroff yanked up the sleeve of his left arm. Harry’s eyes widened with shock, briefly catching a glimpse of a tattoo - more like red burn scars really, as if Karkaroff had been branded - a tattoo of a symbol which Harry recognised all too well.

“Put that away!” Snape snarled. “Not here, not now!”

“You _**must**_ have felt it too! And look - it’s never been more clear! He’s back from the dead - he must be!”

“I said not _now_ , Igor!” Snape spat. “This is not the time or place.”

Harry ducked back down under the table again, his heart pounding. Snape had one too! He had a Dark Mark! Why else would Karkaroff have said that Snape must have felt it too? 

Snape must have just noticed that Harry’s cauldron was still on the table because suddenly he called out.

“Potter! What are you still doing here?”

Shaking slightly, Harry popped out from under the table, trying to look like he’d been under it the whole time.

“Er... Armadillo Bile Professor! I dropped it and I was just cleaning it up.” Harry held up his wet rag.

“Get out! NOW!” said Snape furiously.

Harry grabbed his cauldron, thanking small mercies that the rest of his stuff was already in it, and fled the classroom, leaving behind two highly agitated professors - professors who were Death Eaters!

“Harry!” Hermione squeaked anxiously when the classroom door slammed behind him. “What happened? What took you so long? I saw Karkaroff go in, then I heard raised voices.”

“Hang on. I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s just get out of here!” 

Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and practically sprinted down the dungeon passages and then up the stone steps, emerging into the Entrance Hall, looking around wildly, trying to decide where he could get to the quickest.

“Harry, what...?”

“Outside - I’ll tell you outside.”

Hermione fell silent and followed Harry out the massive oak front doors without question. Harry glanced around and spotted a copse of Ash-trees surrounded by Hawthorn bushes not too far away. He hurriedly made a beeline across the lawn with Hermione in tow. 

In the middle of the copse under the foliage was a perfect little clearing hidden by the Hawthorn. Harry quickly set his cauldron down and sat on the ground, leaning his back against a tree-trunk and panting. Hermione followed suit, sitting right next to him, also gasping for air. She remained quiet, waiting for Harry to catch his breath.

Finally, Harry felt his breathing slow, though his heart kept thudding. 

“Can you tell me now?” asked Hermione, looking very worried.

“Yeah - listen, you’re not going to believe this, but please, give me a chance! Hear me out! I promise it’s all true...”

Harry anxiously told Hermione everything he had just heard and seen and she listened intently without interruption. She had that sort of skeptical look in her eye when he had finished and his heart fell.

“Please, you have to believe me,” he begged. 

Hermione flung her arms around Harry, embracing him tightly.

“Of _course_ I believe you, Harry!” she said earnestly. “And your deduction is very logical. Snape _must_ be a Death Eater too if Karkaroff was mentioning that Snape had to have felt whatever it is too - maybe itching, or a burning sensation in their scars - sort of how yours feels when Voldemort is near or you’re feeling his emotions.

“But think about it Harry. They must be _**ex**_ -Death Eaters. Karkaroff is clearly worried about Voldemort being back, and he expected Snape to be too. ... I know Snape is absolutely awful, but Dumbledore must trust him for some reason...”

“Okay, that makes sense about Karkaroff - he was definitely worried about Voldemort being back. But what if he was wrong to believe that Snape might be worried too? What if Dumbledore’s wrong?” said Harry, starting to feel frustrated. “Snape obviously hates me...”

“...because he hated your father! I know, Harry! But then he would have been working with Crouch Junior, or with Wormtail before that, wouldn’t he? Snape actually seemed to be trying to protect us from Sirius. ... And look at when he tried to stop Quirrell from killing you when Dumbledore suspected Quirrell was working for Voldemort...,”

“Maybe,” Harry muttered begrudgingly. “But what if Snape has to keep up appearances because he’s spying on us for Voldemort _now?_ ... He didn’t seem to know that Voldemort was actually possessing Quirrell and he might have just thought Quirrell was really just trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone for himself. And for all we know, Snape could have really been trying to help Wormtail escape, couldn’t he?”

“I know it all seems very suspicious, but Professor Moody is an ex-Auror who fought against Death Eaters with Dumbledore. I can’t imagine that between them they don’t know that Snape used to be a Death Eater, and that they would let him teach here if he still was one. ... Dumbledore is a Legilimens after all.”

“But it all comes down to whether they’re actually _right_ about Snape - that he’s not a Death Eater anymore - doesn’t it? If Snape is really brilliant at Occlumency, say, he could have fooled them, right?”

Hermione sighed, then she nodded. 

“That’s very true Harry,” she conceded. “You’re right! But if that’s the case - that Snape’s a spy - then no matter how badly he treats us, he still can’t actually do anything to you if he’s got to keep up appearances to fool Dumbledore and Moody into believing that he’s on their side now. 

“And at least we know that they’re trying to protect you - and we’ve got Dora - she’s shadowing us right now, isn’t she - just staying out of sight. ... If Snape were to try anything, he’d be finished as a spy, and I don’t doubt for a minute that between Dora and Moody and Dumbledore and Flitwick and McGonagall - he’d be cooked. 

“Ever since Crouch Junior was caught, they’ve all been on high alert - and given you private quarters with loads of protection charms, and alerted all the portraits and ghosts in the castle to keep an eye on things, and put up charms to detect Polyjuice imposters, and anti-portkey charms, and...”

“...and there are anti-apparition charms and probably other stuff too.” Harry nodded, starting to feel more cheered. “Yeah, you’re right Hermione! There’s too many protection charms up now - There’s no _way_ Snape could kidnap me or you or anyone else at Hogwarts now.

“And Voldemort’s _obviously_ stuck on doing me in himself - he’d probably kill Snape if Snape killed me, or tipped Dumbledore off by killing someone else! Snape would probably do a bunk before doing any of those things, and, er...” 

Harry gave Hermione a lopsided, slightly abashed looking grin. “...and Snape might actually _be_ an _**ex**_ -Death Eater who switched sides and is really trying to help Dumbledore now and I’m just being totally paranoid because...”

“...because Professor Snape is still quite horrid and nasty and dreadful and hateful and awful and bullying and vindictive?” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, half scowling and half smiling.

“I was just going to say, ‘still evil,’ but yeah!” Harry grinned.

“Yes!” Hermione agreed, grinning back. “If Snape really is trying to help protect Hogwarts, he’s not exactly giving us any reason _**not**_ to be paranoid, is he?” 

“I’ll try not to worry about it too much then,” said Harry, leaning closer to Hermione and putting an arm around her; he kissed the top of her bushy head as she nestled into the crook of his shoulder, “I can think of loads better things to do with our time...”

“Mmm... Me too,” said Hermione as she wrapped both arms around his middle and sighed happily.

_~o0o~_

Deciding that they had had enough excitement for the day, Harry and Hermione thought that it might be better to avoid the Gryffindor Common Room - where word of their exploits was no doubt making the rounds already - and went back to his quarters to do their homework together.

Harry was working on a particularly difficult translation for an essay for his Beginning Runes lessons. Hermione peered over his shoulder to take a look.

“Very good Harry!” she said, sounding really pleased. 

“And you’re _almost_ right with that one.” Hermione pointed at a word in his translation of the Nordic Rune-set. “It’s supposed to be ‘vargr’ singular, not ‘vargar’ plural.”

“Thanks Hermione!” Harry quickly made the correction in both the Nordic word and the English translation. “Wolf - not wolves! Got it! Blimey - translations are hard. I’m lucky I’m good at the calligraphy, and I’m really lucky to have someone amazing like you to help me with the translations.”

Hermione beamed and gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. She seemed to have something on her mind though, because she kept looking at him with a slightly amused almost-smile.

“So - how was it?” she asked.

“Er... what?”

“The kiss with Parvati - how was it?”

Harry gulped and began to panic. What was the right answer to this question? If he said it was dreadful Hermione might admonish him for taking it too seriously - that he should have known it didn’t mean anything. If he said he kind of liked it - well, that was sure to be a disaster! 

“Er... it was dreadful,” he said, going with Option A. 

Hermione swatted his shoulder and giggled.

“Oh come on, Harry! Don’t take things so seriously. Be honest!”

“Well...” said Harry very carefully, trying to figure out how to work his way through the minefield. “Maybe it wasn’t dreadful - I, er, suppose it was alright, maybe nice even... But it wasn’t _**nearly**_ as nice as kissing you!” 

“Good answer!” Hermione grinned and leaned forward, giving him a proper kiss.

“I meant every word of it,” said Harry, grinning back at her when the kiss was finished. “There may be loads of nice girls out there... but none of them are you! I can’t imagine ever wanting to be with anyone else! ... You’re perfect!”

For a moment Hermione peered at him with her big brown eyes and she almost looked like she was about to cry. Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d said something wrong when Hermione suddenly pounced on him, knocking his Runes book on the floor, pinning him to the sofa and kissing him heatedly.

When their lips finally parted they both panted breathlessly, green eyes meeting brown once more.

“I love you so much, Harry Potter,” she said softly.

“I love you too, Hermione.”

And then they were kissing again, arms around one another, hands roaming. When they both came up for air Harry smiled at Hermione, an impish look in his eye.

“So how was it for you?” he asked.

“It was wonderful!” she sighed contentedly, beaming back at him.

“I thought so,” said Harry with a grin. “You and Parvati looked like you were really enjoying it.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned the colour of an overripe strawberry.

“You... no...” she sputtered. “That’s not what I meant!”

Harry pounced on Hermione this time, tickling her ribs. He soon had Hermione on her back on the sofa, giggling hysterically, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks. 

“No...stop!” she gasped. “No more...”

Harry stopped tickling at once and grinned down at her.“Go on! Your turn to tell the truth!” 

“Or I’ll use these on you again until you do!” Harry wiggled his fingers.

“No! No! I can’t take any more! ... I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

“I’m listening.”

Hermione’s cheeks looked like they were on fire now.

“If...if you _must_ know, I thought it was nice too,” she admitted shyly. “Nicer than I thought it would be! I honestly never thought I’d like kissing a girl - but I kind of did. ... But it was all just for show! ... I _**promise!**_... I love kissing you more! Lots and lots more!” 

“I know,” said Harry as he looked into Hermione’s pleading eyes; he kissed her again, softly, tenderly, until he felt her calming down. 

Then his brow furrowed pensively.

“I _am_ a metamorphmagus, you know! If you want... I could, er... just for you.”

There was only a brief moment of hesitation, then Hermione shook her bushy head vigorously.

“No! Not for me! You’re perfect too, Harry - just the way you are! I wouldn’t have you any other way!”

They kissed again, and as it grew deeper and more impassioned, Harry couldn’t help but think of the flicker of temptation in Hermione’s eyes and filed that away for one day in the future, maybe after Hogwarts when they were married...

**~o0o~**

When she thought it would be safe, long after curfew, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak in a blissful daze, the unsettled feeling caused by Skeeter’s article washed away completely. She felt ready to move things forward with Harry again, and was already planning their next rendezvous.

Happily, there was no-one left in the common room when Hermione entered through the porthole and she crept up to the stairs to the dormitory. Quietly she opened the door just in case anyone was asleep. Lavender looked like she had dozed off and the other girls had the curtains around their four-poster beds drawn. 

Only Parvati was awake, sitting up in bed reading a book. They both blushed. Then they burst into giggles and both had to cover their mouths so that their giggles wouldn’t wake anyone. Crookshanks flicked his tail lazily and purred when he spotted Hermione.

As Hermione crawled into bed and let out a contented sigh about Harry, she wondered when she had become more giggly. Was it because she and Harry had become girlfriend and boyfriend, or because she had become closer to Lavender and Parvati? 

She was suddenly taken with a strange sense of deja-vu. 

Her eyes closed, somehow recent events all swirled together with past events and a vibrant memory popped into her head. A memory of Harry’s second ever Quidditch match in first year - the one which Snape had been refereeing. 

Hermione giggled when she remembered Ron and Neville’s first ever fist-fight with Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. They had been been brawling in the stands and it had all happened at once. 

Hermione remembered screaming and leaping onto her seat to watch when Harry had gone into a terrifying dive and then shot past Snape to catch the snitch in a record time which was still unbroken. 

The stands erupted into cheers. Hermione was shrieking gleefully, “Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor is in the lead!” jumping up and down in her seat and surprising Parvati with a rib-cracking hug. 

As the memory replayed over and over in her mind, she knew she finally had what she had wanted all along - Harry as her boyfriend and friends like Parvati and Lavender to share the ups and downs of it all with. It was okay to have close friends who were girly girls, and it was actually okay to cut loose and giggle a bit every once in a while...

**~o0o~**

Hermione made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast with Harry and Dora after meeting them outside their respective quarters. Parvati and Lavender were already waiting and giggling with Ginny, Luna and Fleur.

Ron and Neville were chortling on the other side of the table with the Twins who were both sniggering. Fred and George peered at the late arrivals with new respect as Harry and Hermione took their seats next to the rest of their “harem.”

“We’ve all decided that we don’t care what anyone thinks,” said Luna with her usual dreamy smile. “Besides, it’s more fun making everyone think it’s true.”

“I still can’t believe you _**both**_ snogged Parvati in front of the Slytherins,” said Ginny, grinning her head off. “I wish I’d been there to see their faces.” 

“Well, Malfoy’s looked something like this when he was arguing with Bulstrode...” Ron screwed his face up into a remarkably good impression of a bewildered, jealous, angry Malfoy that got everyone laughing again.

Harry glanced across the hall and grinned to see Malfoy with the exact same expression on his face as they caught each others’ eye. And then the owls started arriving. 

As the letters started piling up on the table in front of Harry and Hermione, Harry looked at them with suspicion, having a very good idea that they would be different than the usual odd bits of fan-mail he got every once in a while. 

“Huh! I wonder what took them so long,” Harry muttered.

“Well, Skeeter’s article came out on Saturday, and most people probably didn’t start sending their owls out till Sunday and...” Hermione began.

“...and it took them a couple of days for them to start arriving from all over Britain,” Harry concluded as he tentatively reached for one of the envelopes.

All eyes were upon Harry as he opened the first envelope. 

“Bloody hell!” he gasped.

Harry was stunned at what he saw and felt his face growing hot; he glanced at Hermione who had clapped a hand to her mouth and started giggling, looking just as shocked as Harry to see the photo of a nude young woman accompanied by a note offering to be part of the “harem.”

“What’s up?” asked Ron. “What is it?” 

“Here!” Harry grinned and chucked the envelope across the table. “You’ll probably appreciate this more than me. I’ve already got a girlfriend.”

“Blimey!” Ron gasped.

Ron and Neville’s eyes nearly fell out of their heads as they gawked at the photo. Harry and Hermione began opening the rest of the dozen or so envelopes and chucking one after the other across the table at Ron and Neville who were both thrilled to see more pictures of young women in various states of undress.

All the girls were giggling again as they peered at the photos before they were tossed across the table - Dora and Fleur both looking very interested.

Harry came to the second to last envelope and opened it. He sighed to see that this letter was more like the ones he had been expecting to get. It was composed from pasted letters that looked like they had been cut out from newspapers and magazines.

“YoU aRe VeRY WickEd youNG Man! YOu arE Not HEro aNYmorE! wIZarD WorlD deSERve MuCH beTTer ThaN SEx-FieNd! Go bacK to MUGglE whEre yOU bElong DEgeneRAte PerVErt!”

“That’s horrible!” said Hermione.

“Yeah!” Harry shrugged nonchalantly as he reached for the last one. “But to be honest, that’s how I expected them all to be - OW!”

“What the hell?” he yelped as yellowy-green goo which smelled like petrol spilled over his fingers and boils began bubbling up.

“That smells like Bubotuber pus,” said Neville. “You should go see Madam Pomfrey.” 

“We’ll tell Professor Sprout where you’ve gone,” said Ron.

Hermione stared at Harry’s hands, appalled. “Tell Professor Sprout that I won’t be there either. I’m going with Harry...”

**~o0o~**

Kingsley Shacklebolt peered around the sparkling clean lobby of the office. It looked almost like any ordinary muggle office-lobby, right down to the ficus in the corner and the magazines on the little table next to the armchairs. The only difference was that the secretary behind the desk was a goblin. 

“Bookmaker Gribble will see you now, sir,” said the secretary, peering over the top of her reading glasses. “Down the hall, second door on the left.”

“Thank you!” Shacklebolt gave the secretary a courteous nod and entered the gold and green carpeted hallway...


	24. Bandaged

Draco Malfoy seethed with rage! He was a Pureblood! A Noble! How come he didn’t have a Harem? Draco couldn’t even get a date to the Yule Ball! But Potter had girls hanging all over him! It wasn’t fair!

 _“Bloody fuck!”_ he yelled at nothing, savagely kicking out at a tree stump near the boat-house. 

“GAAAAAH! Aaaaargh!” 

Draco hopped on one foot before plonking himself down on his backside amidst the long grasses and weeds. He tugged off the shoe from his other foot and began massaging his toes, wincing. 

“I thought I heard screaming,” a sly voice chuckled. Draco looked up, recognising the voice.

“Piss off, Zabini! ... I’m not in the bloody mood!” Draco snarled.

Zabini shook his head and chuckled some more. “I can see that! Need a hand with that foot?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Zabini’s little joke.

“I’ll be fine!” he snapped. “Anyway, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in class?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zabini retorted. “But don’t tell me the answer - let me guess. You’re not in the mood?”

“Oh, ha, ha, ha! Really funny Zabini!”

“Are you really that arsed by Potter’s little harem then?” Zabini sighed and shook his head, looking almost (but not quite) sympathetic.

“So what if I am?” Draco whined. “I’m rich! I’m a Pureblood! Where’s _my_ bloody harem?”

Zabini snorted mirthfully. “I suppose you could always ask your father to hire you a harem.”

“It’s not the bloody same! Everyone _wants_ to be in Potter’s harem - even Pansy apparently!” Draco narrowed his eyes at Zabini. “And you’ll want to keep an eye on Greengrass. She looked like she was enjoying the show yesterday too.”

“I was there, remember? And yeah, she was.” Zabini grinned. “She got so hot and bothered watching Patil and Granger snogging that we spent the rest of the afternoon shagging...”

“NOT helping, Zabini!”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Draco, not everyone thinks it’s as brilliant as you and loads of girls seem to. After you stormed out of breakfast, Potter had to go to the hospital wing with boils all over his hands. Someone sent him an envelope full of Bubotubor pus.”

“Huh! That’s something I suppose!” said Draco begrudgingly, scowling.

“Anyway - how’s your foot doing? Need some help getting to the hospital wing?” Zabini almost looked like he was smirking.

“I can get there myself!” Draco grumbled.

“Suit yourself! ... See you round!” Zabini shrugged then sauntered off.

Draco watched Zabini until he passed out of view beyond the rise, still feeling puzzled; Zabini never had mentioned why he was out of class. If Draco didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like Zabini had just wanted to needle him and rub Potter’s harem in his face.

Draco staggered to his feet with a groan, wincing.

“Gaah!” he grunted as he began to hobble back towards the castle.

**~o0o~**

Students were already gathering near the woods by Hagrid’s hut for Care of Magical Creatures when Hermione arrived with a very grumpy looking Harry with bandaged hands. Amusement softened Harry’s irritable features when he spied Ron and Neville and he couldn’t help chuckling; the pair were still gawking at the photographs and showing them to Dean and Seamus while they were all waiting for Hagrid.

“Blimey!” Dean whistled as he took a good long look at one of the photos in particular. “She’s a real looker, that one is!”

Ron and Neville, both with slightly vacant grins, nodded in unison. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, but her little smirk suggested that she still found it all more amusing than anything. Seamus, who wasn’t nearly as interested in the photos, having a personal stash of _Naughty Witches_ magazines hidden under his mattress, nudged Dean when he spotted Hagrid approaching.

“Watch it mate,” muttered Seamus.

Dean quickly thrust the photo back at Ron who hurriedly but carefully returned the photo to its envelope and handed it to Neville who hastily put it and the other envelopes in his book bag as Hagrid lumbered towards them. 

“What yeh got there, lads?” asked Hagrid, looking very curious.

“Er...” said Ron, his ears turning pink.

“Nothing,” Neville mumbled, his cheeks turning scarlet.

“It’s just a few silly pictures which came in the post this morning,” Hermione chimed in quickly to save Ron and Neville from trouble. 

Hagrid nodded, quickly losing interest when he spied Harry’s bandaged hands.

“Blimey Harry! Wha’ happened ter yeh, then?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply but again Hermione was first in, this time her nostrils flaring with emotion as she spoke.

“That was from a _horrible_ letter that Harry got this morning after that stupid article Rita Skeeter wrote about our supposed ‘harem’ for _Witch Weekly_ ,” she hissed angrily. “The envelope contained undiluted bubotubor pus and it got all over Harry’s hands.”

“Aaah! Righ’...” said Hagrid sympathetically, “got some of ‘em letters meself after she wrote tha’ one abou’ me an’ Lupin. Someone even sen’ me a parcel full o’ dragon dung - good fertiliser fer the pumpkins though. ... Load a ruddy nutters! Yeh oughter just chuck the lot in the fire Harry...”

“Actually, me and Neville are checking all of Harry’s mail first now,” said Ron magnanimously.

“Er... we are?” 

“Yeah - for Harry’s safety,” Ron raised his eyebrows at Neville. 

“Oh - right! ... Harry’s safety!” Neville quickly agreed.

Hermione snorted mirthfully and Lavender and Parvati giggled. This time it was Harry who was rolling his eyes and smirking, but he reckoned if Ron and Neville were willing to risk bubotubor pus for a few pictures of naked girls that was up to them.

“Well, good on yeh, lads!” Hagrid beamed. “Lookin’ out fer yer friend like tha’ ... Yeh couldn’ ask fer better, Harry!”

“Yeah, they’re alright!” Harry chortled, all grumpiness gone completely now. 

“Thanks loads, guys,” he added with a grin and a wink at Ron and Neville. 

“Anyway,” said Hagrid, “bes’ be gettin’ class started. Huh... looks like there’s less Slyth’rins today... less’n usual anyway now tha’ Malfoy an’ ‘is pair o’ knuckleheads is gone...” 

“Blaise wasn’t feeling well,” piped up Daphne Greengrass; for some reason Pansy was giggling. 

““Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, nodding as he began the lesson. “These’re Nifflers - clever little creatures and jolly useful little treasure detectors they are. Yeh find ‘em down mines mostly. An’ watch out for yer valuables - they like sparkly stuff...”

Sure enough, Pansy gave a little shriek as one leapt and tried to gnaw her bracelet off her wrist. But she calmed down when she realised that it was more cuddly than dangerous. Ron’s interest was piqued when Hagrid went on.

“Anyway, I’ve buried a load o’ Leprechaun Gold,” said Hagrid cheerily, “an’ there’s a prize for the one whose Niffler digs up the most coins. Don’ bother keepin’ the gold though, it’ll disappear after a bit...”

Ron ended up with an enormous bar of chocolate when his Niffler dug up the most gold coins. He was a bit disappointed that it was only Leprechaun Gold, but he was still feeling pretty chuffed about all of the photos that he and Neville were sharing between them and the prospect of more to follow...

**~o0o~**

The Goblin with a slender black moustache and crisply parted slick, black hair peered shrewdly over steepled, spindly fingers at the tall Auror sitting before his desk.

“I can assure you, Auror Shacklebolt, all of our operations at Gribble and Spugnut Betting Services are quite legal and aboveboard. All of our transactions are conducted through Account Manager Ragnok’s office at Gringotts in accordance with both Ministry regulations and National statutes.” 

“Oh, of course, Mr. Gribble,” said Shacklebolt politely. “My apologies if I wasn’t clear. It was Account Manager Ragnok who informed me that your firm was the most recent to handle Ludo Bagman’s legitimate affairs.” 

“Ah, Bagman!” Mr. Gribble scowled as he nudged a slightly askew ballpoint pen back into alignment with the others on his otherwise perfectly organised mahogany desk. “Yes! We last handled Bagman’s bets during the Quidditch World Cup, and he ended up owing the firm a substantial amount of gold. 

“He had been in arrears nearly four months before we finally received full payment and at that point this firm severed ties with him.”

“Did Bagman inform you how he had managed to scrape together the necessary funds for repayment.”

“Alas, no! Indeed, that was one of the reasons we refused to conduct any more business with Bagman. We suspected that he may have also been financing side-bets through illegitimate bookmaking operators to cover bets beyond the limits of our financial terms with him.”

“I see!” Shacklebolt nodded, frowning pensively. “So the bookmakers he was seen with in Hogsmeade in January...”

“Were not associated with Gribble and Spugnut in any way, and we do not believe they were associated with Kilgore and Sons or Biljbreth Incorporated. ... It is possible I suppose, but highly unlikely that Bagman ran the bets which exceeded the amounts our firm was willing to cover through a smaller firm.”

Mr. Gribble picked up the ballpoint pen which he had so carefully lined up with the others and scribbled a few names on a notepad; then he tore off the top slip of the pad and handed it to Shacklebolt.

“I suggest you try your luck in those establishments.”

“Bullwhip and Cleaver, and Red-Handed-Fist...?” Shacklebolt tugged his lower lip between forefinger and thumb as he peered questioningly at the names.

“Goblin pubs which cater to more.... _unsavoury_ elements of the Goblin Nation,” said Mr. Gribble. “And The Silver Sword is a more high-end nightclub catering to more distinguished Goblin clientele - but the National Inquiry Unit has for quite some time believed that The Silver Sword launders money for one of the larger Goblin criminal syndicates.” 

“They have yet to catch them at it,” Mr. Gribble shrugged, “but a raid once uncovered a fencing and drugs operation conducting business in the establishment during open hours. Of course the owners of the nightclub claimed no knowledge of the criminal activities, and no connection could be proven...”

“...But one is very likely,” said Shacklebolt, nodding again. He rose to his feet and shook the bookmaker’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Gribble. You have been very helpful.”

“It was my pleasure, Auror Shacklebolt. ... Your courtesy is greatly appreciated.”

Shacklebolt smiled wryly. “Not all wizards are inclined to hold on to old enmities and prejudices, Mr. Gribble...”

**~o0o~**

Despite having done very well forgetting about Snape being a (most likely ex-) Death Eater since all that snogging with Hermione yesterday afternoon and evening, it began weighing heavily on Harry’s mind again when he spotted Snape glowering at him from the staff-table at lunch.

He began wondering if he should ask Dumbledore, but wasn’t sure how one went about something like that without sounding all accusatory. Harry felt like it would be a bit presumptuous to simply walk up to Dumbledore and say, “Excuse me professor, but did you know that you have a Death Eater on the staff?”

But the more he thought about it, the more Harry felt like he had to tell someone. What if Dumbledore _was_ unaware? He would surely want to know. And if Snape really was an _ex_ -Death Eater working for Dumbledore now, Harry really wanted to know the truth, rather than just guessing.

Between that and his bandaged hands, Harry was all worked up again by the end of classes, and Hermione wasn’t the only one who could tell, Ron and Neville seemed to have noticed too.

“You alright, Harry?” asked Ron, looking very concerned.

“Are your hands still hurting?” asked Neville. 

Parvati, who was hanging out too as Lavender was off somewhere with Viktor, peered at Harry’s bandages as if hoping to see through them with x-ray vision. Harry sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at his itching scar with the tips of his fingers.

“Nah,” he said, glancing at Hermione, “It’s something else...”

Ten minutes later, Harry was sitting by the edge of the lake with Hermione, Parvati, and Neville and Ron. The surface of the lake was rippling in the bitter wind which was blowing away the grey skies of February as March approached (and with it, Ron’s birthday Harry reminded himself), and a few ducks were waddling along the pebbly shore nearby. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry began to tell them everything he had found out and had discussed with Hermione.

“...and that’s what’s annoying me right now,” Harry concluded. “I’m not sure how to talk to Dumbledore about it.”

Parvati and Neville were both shocked into silence.

“Snape’s a Death Eater? ... He’s really a Death Eater then?” Ron was still too stunned by the revelation to offer any meaningful advice. 

_“Yes!”_ said Hermione impatiently, rolling her eyes. “You’re the _last_ person I thought would be surprised by this, Ron.” 

“Well, yeah, I knew Snape was evil, but after it turned out to be Quirrell all along in first year I never reckoned Snape was _that_ evil!” said Ron defensively.

“Well, what do you guys think?” asked Harry. “Should I just stroll up to Dumbledore and drop this on him or what?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Neville, looking anxious. “What if he gets angry with you for making accusations?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, nodding, “I could see that going over like a lead balloon. If he does already know about Snape, Dumbledore might get cross with you for exposing a secret, or he might think that you’re just trying to make trouble for Snape.”

“Well, _I_ think that Harry should say something,” said Parvati firmly.

“I agree completely,” said Hermione. “It’s the only way to really settle things...”

“ _Or_ I could run it by Moody, see what ‘e knows about it...” said another voice. 

Everyone turned to see Dora peeking around the bush behind them. Harry kicked himself mentally. Dora - of course; he should have asked her what she thought about all of this.

“Sorry, Harry! I couldn’t help overhearing - I always give you and Hermione a bit more space if it’s just you two, but I figured I could stick a bit closer seein’ as you’re with everyone else.”

“No - it’s okay, really,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I’m just feeling a bit stupid for not thinking of talking to you.” 

“Me too,” Hermione admitted, flushing with embarrassment. 

“No worries, you two.” Dora grinned. “You’ve got enough on your plates dealin’ with everything else. But this is more or less my job - looking out for any potential threats. And to be perfectly honest, I always thought Snape was mean enough t’be a Death Eater too. ... He wasn’t any nicer to Hufflepuffs than ‘e was to Gryffindors back when I had ‘im for Potions.”

**~o0o~**

Lucius Malfoy strode through the Atrium of the Ministry as if he owned the place, the crowds parting around him. He glared at several Ministry workers who attempted to enter the lift with him and they fell back, knowing better than to mess with the angry platinum haired Warlock. He scratched at his left forearm absentmindedly as the lift hurtled on its way.

Finally he reached the Administration level and stalked along the purple-carpeted corridor until he came to the Senior Undersecretary’s office. 

“Oh, Warlock Malfoy,” said the secretary in the office lobby, looking up when the door opened, “The Senior Undersecretary is expecting...”

“Of course she is,” snapped Malfoy, pushing open the door of the Senior Undersecretary’s sanctum. The first thing to strike Malfoy’s eye as always was the flowery pink wallpaper.

“Lucius, come in, come in,” Umbridge beckoned, gesturing at the overstuffed hot-pink armchair. “Do take a seat.”

Malfoy ignored the mewling kittens gamboling across the plates on the wall and his feet sank into pearl-pink shag carpet as he made his way to the armchair. He cut an odd-figure, dressed all in black seated in the garishly pink office, but he was used to it. Malfoy caught Umbridge glancing at his left forearm as she passed him a cup of tea.

“Any changes I should be aware of, Lucius?” she asked, her voice as sweetened as the tea he was sipping.

“Just some itching and reddening, which is highly suggestive, I admit,” he responded. “If Crouch Junior’s Veritaserum confession is indeed true and not just the mad ravings of an escaped convict, all I can be certain of is that the Dark Lord has not reconstituted himself yet.”

“And if he does...?”

“You will be the first to know, Dolores, I can assure you.”

“Good, because indeed, Ludo’s assessment of our problems were, if anything, an understatement, and we have enough on our plate as it is. ... Cornelius brought Dumbledore’s ‘concerns’ regarding the Second Task to me personally yesterday, and judging by his demeanor I suspect that Amelia’s investigation of Bagman’s possible ties to illicit Goblin bookmakers’ may not be the extent of it.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Lucius raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of tea and wondered if he needed a splash of brandy added.

“Yes,” Dolores nodded. “We shall have to tread very carefully as we move forward. I had to reassure Cornelius that my office would recuse itself from any further involvement in the Triwizard Tournament, so...” 

The Senior Undersecretary raised her own eyebrows, leaving the “so” unsaid.

“I see,” Lucius drawled, eyeing the brandy bottle through the glass of the mahogany cabinet behind Umbridge, “perhaps then, if things were to go... _awry_ with the Third Task, Ludo and his, ah... _friends_ might be the ones to bear the responsibility...”

“My thoughts precisely,” Dolores beamed. “And if You-Know-Who should make his presence known to you before then...”

“Well,” said Lucius slowly, still calculating his options, still not entirely certain as to what he would do if the Dark Lord called for him, “at the very least, no doubt the responsibility for any mishap which befalls... _certain participants_ during the Third Task would fall upon the Dark Lord himself, if he were to be exposed publicly.

“Perhaps, if Rita Skeeter were to be the recipient of a Ministry leak regarding Crouch Junior, that would be enough to solve all of our little problems. ... If the Dark Lord has indeed returned, he will wish to keep his presence in Britain hidden from the public as long as possible until he has built up a large enough base of support to move openly. A Ministry leak would certainly dash those plans...”

“Quite so,” Dolores agreed. “Though a leak may not even be necessary. If the Ministry obtains enough evidence to confirm Crouch Junior’s story, Cornelius plans to release the information to the public himself.” 

Lucius Malfoy’s surly mood began to lift at that thought, and his features brightened considerably. If the Dark Lord was forced into open warfare too soon, he would be vulnerable, especially if Lucius were able to convince enough others not to rejoin the Dark Lord should he send out the call. 

Things were coming along quite handsomely at the moment, despite the setback of Fudge moving back into Dumbledore’s corner, and the last thing Lucius or Dolores wanted was a war to spoil it all.

Dolores gave him a canny look and smile. “Well, then, now that’s settled, perhaps a brandy Lucius? I must say you looked rather irritable when you arrived. Problems at home?”

“Nothing a ‘harem’ wouldn’t solve,” Lucius retorted dryly. “I received a Floo message from Draco last night...”

**~o0o~**

Harry wasn’t really sure he wanted to eat in the Great Hall that evening and was considering asking Dobby to bring him and Hermione some dinner in his quarters. He had managed to get by at lunch by eating a few sandwiches, which didn't require the use of utensils.

Harry didn’t doubt that while his hands were still bandaged some of the girls might be tempted to feed him. The others may be perfectly happy pretending to be his and Hermione’s “harem,” but the idea of being fed from their hands like some sort of Roman Emperor seemed a bit too over-the-top and embarrassing. 

On the other hand, it would really annoy Draco Malfoy.

In the end, Hermione managed to convince Harry to eat with everyone else, and Harry was glad that she had when he saw Malfoy scowling and limping into the Hall with a bandaged foot.

“Blimey! What happened to him?” 

“While you were hanging out with Neville and Ron, Pansy told me that Blaise had a little chat with Malfoy this morning,” said Hermione, smirking. “Apparently Malfoy was taking out his frustrations on inanimate objects and ended up breaking a few toes.” 

Hermione sliced a little piece of the roast beef on Harry’s plate and forked it for him.

“Aren’t you happy now that I got you to come and eat with all of us?” she asked as the fork approached his mouth. 

Harry flushed hotly as he pulled the piece of roast beef from the fork with his teeth, still not entirely certain. But as he was chewing, Parvati reached for a silver bowl sitting on the table and lifted out a bunch of purple grapes. 

“Open up, Harry,” she said with a giggle. 

Harry let Parvati pop a grape into his mouth and caught Malfoy’s eye. He nearly spat out the grape in a snort of laughter; the look on Malfoy’s face was priceless. 

“Yeah,” said Harry after swallowing the grape, grinning madly, “This is brilliant! It was almost worth getting bubotubored and bandaged just for this...”


	25. The Weight

Professor McGonagall narrowly eyed Professor Snape’s annoyingly nearly placid features all through dinner, certain from the twitching muscle on his temple that they were a facade to cover his anger at Harry Potter. Every so often he glanced at Potter and the barest hint of sneer hovered about his lips.

For her part, McGonagall was pleased that Potter was putting on a brave face and making the best of a bad situation, what with Rita Skeeter’s latest attempt to smear his reputation. At least in regards to most of the school, the attempt had failed rather spectacularly, judging by the show that Granger, Potter, and their friends were putting on for the benefit of the Slytherins.

She would be enjoying the performance almost as much as the headmaster was if she weren’t so aggravated with Severus Snape’s apparent skirting of Dumbledore’s admonition preceding the Christmas Holidays.

McGonagall considered approaching Dumbledore again, but then decided to tackle Severus herself. Following the feast, McGonagall quickly wiped her lips with a napkin and hastened after the Potions Master, catching up with him before he exited the Great Hall.

“Severus,” she called out, gesturing to the door of one of the anterooms, “a word if you please.” 

“If you insist, Minerva,” said Snape silkily as he followed her inside. 

“Well,” said McGonagall sharply as soon as the door shut, muffling the rumble of the foosteps of the throng heading for their dorms, “Ninety points vanished from Gryffindor yesterday afternoon around the time of Mr. Potter’s double period in Potions. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“It had nothing to do with Potter - not directly in any case,” Snape’s dark eyes glittered cagily. “Granger and the rest of Potter’s little... _friends_ were disrupting the class. No doubt delighted to find themselves the centre of attention.” 

“Really? Is that so? ... And if I were to suggest that you had been taunting them by reading aloud from Skeeter’s hit-piece, and deliberately targeting them for reprisal what might you say to that?”

McGonagall caught the flicker of doubt in Snape’s eyes and felt vindicated, knowing that her inference had struck a nerve. But the doubt was replaced immediately by a look of defiance.

“Given the, ah, one hundred and seventy points deducted from Slytherin over a harmless prank following the Second Task, surely you are not worried about losing the House Cup this year, Minerva.”

“Hmm...” McGonagall’s lips grew thinner and her tone even colder. “As I recall that ‘harmless prank’ resulted in a brawl involving seven of your students and four of mine, and a fifty points loss from Gryffindor as well. ... Be that as it may, if I hear that you have been wasting your class’s time instead of teaching Potions again, the headmaster shall hear of it.” 

“Do what you must, Minerva,” said Snape, “Now, if you don’t mind, my bed awaits.”

“By all means, Severus.” McGonagall scowled at the backside of the Potions Master as he flounced out of the anteroom in a swirl of black robes.

**~o0o~**

Harry felt loads better the next day when his bandages came off - and that was good because Professor Moody seemed keen on getting back to training as soon as possible. Moody held him and Hermione back at the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts while the other students filed out of the classroom. Ron, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati looked like they wanted to stay but one glare from Moody sent them all packing.

“Right then, Potter,” Professor Moody growled, his mad eye boring into Harry, “Heard about your run-in with Snape and Karkaroff, and that you want some answers. Ye wanna know if Snape’s in cahoots with Voldemort - is that about the size of it?”

“Er... Yeah,” said Harry, gulping nervously at the menacing looking ex-Auror and wondering if Moody was about to berate him for being too nosy.

“I can’t tell you more’n I know, Potter,” said Moody gruffly, “but I suppose ye’ve got a right t’know some of it. ... Yeah - Snape used t’be a Death Eater, then he switched sides for some reason that I can’t figure. ... Karkaroff, I get him - I don’t trust him, but I get him - he got a deal for sellin’ out other Death Eaters, an’ there’s no way he wants to risk gettin’ chucked back in Azkaban or in Nurmengard, and there’s no way he wants to get back with Voldemort. 

“But Dumbledore said Snape turned spy for our side a bit before the end o’ things last time, an’ he trusts Snape - and I’m buggered if I know why. If you ask me, Dumbledore’s too trusting for his own good - believes in second chances, no matter how bad the firs’ chance was. Me - I don’t trust anyone with a Dark Mark - some spots just don’t wash off.

“Snape may’ve truly come around, I don’t know. But I’ve seen how he is around you, Potter - he’s got it in for you bad! There’s something still rotten to the core about him whether he really switched sides or not. 

“Now, I know that ain’t much comfort, me not knowin’ if Snape can be trusted. In the end, all I c’n say is that Dumbledore trusts him completely for some ungodly reason, an’ that I’ve got my eye on him. Me and Tonks an’ everyone else - and yeah, even Dumbledore - we’ve all got your back Potter. 

“That doesn’t mean you should let your guard down - constant vigilance is your best friend, an’ if you see anything else suspicious, don’t hesitate to let me know. ... Don’t bother with Dumbledore though, he won’t take kindly to suspicions against Snape - jus’ tell me or Tonks, or McGonagall. We’ll check things out and if we find there’s anything to it, we’ll light a fire under Dumbledore’s arse - alright?”

“Er... yeah, okay,” said Harry when it seemed like Moody was finished. 

He still felt unsettled - it was hard not to with Moody being so uncertain about Snape himself. But at least he knew for certain that Dumbledore knew about Snape and that Dumbledore believed in Snape. That was something - not much, but something. Harry shot a glance at Hermione, who actually looked a bit more shaken if anything.

“Anyway,” said Moody after giving Harry a moment to absorb things, “we’ll be gettin’ back to training you and Granger up startin’ Friday evening, Potter. You should have all your strength back by then - should be enough time after healin’ up from that nasty business at the end o’ the Second Task...”

Harry was surprised when Moody suddenly broke into an ugly grin.

“Speakin’ o’ which, I really haven’t taken the time to congratulate you yet, Potter. That was a nice bit o’ work you did on the Second Task - you held your own against a sea-serpent and assassins, and as far as I’m concerned you’re the one who shoulda won it after dealin’ with a whole heap more than any of the other Champions had to face.” 

Harry gaped in astonishment at Moody. His trepidation about Snape was temporarily replaced with no small amount of gratification; Harry couldn’t help feeling a swell of achievement to have earned such high praises from Professor Moody. Harry had to admit that he had been a bit less than happy with his performance in the Second Task. It had been a real blow to his confidence to have come so close to snuffing it, and all the “Secret Harem” business had in many ways been a welcome distraction and a bit of an ego boost.

Feeling generally better, Harry departed the Defence classroom with Hermione at his side and a note for Professor Flitwick explaining why they were late for Charms.

“Wow, I can’t believe it,” said Harry, grinning. “Moody actually thinks I should have won the Second Task!”

“He’s not wrong,” said Hermione, giving Harry a peck on the cheek, “you were amazing!” 

But Harry noticed that she looked a bit distracted and disturbed.

“Er... you alright Hermione?”

Hermione frowned hesitantly. 

“I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “I thought we’d get something a bit more definitive about Professor Snape...”

“You thought we’d get more proof that Snape was definitely on our side, didn’t you?”

“Yes, actually, to be perfectly honest,” Hermione sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust Dumbledore’s judgment - I _do_ , though perhaps a bit less - okay, _more_ than a bit less since I found out how rotten your aunt and uncle were to you - but Professor Moody is an ex-Auror. I know loads of people think he’s paranoid, but he’s had lots of good reasons to be, hasn’t he? 

“I would think that his instincts about these sorts of things are pretty sharp. What he said about Karkaroff made perfect sense, for example. Even though Professor Moody doesn’t trust him either, he can be very certain that Karkaroff isn’t a Death Eater anymore.”

“So, are you saying you think Snape _could_ actually be working for Voldemort now?” 

Harry was genuinely surprised at Hermione’s change of heart, especially as he himself was feeling slightly better knowing that Dumbledore trusted Snape. Not a hundred percent by any means, but Harry’s estimation had definitely swung over a bit more to that side of things than they were before. 

“The problem is, without knowing Professor Snape’s reasons for switching sides, we can’t rule anything out. And you heard Professor Moody - it looks like Neville and Ron were right about not going straight to Dumbledore with this, and I’m really not sure what to make of that...” Hermione scowled.

“If Dumbledore is absolutely certain that Snape is on his side, then why wouldn’t he at least tell Professor Moody how he knows? You would think, seeing as he hired Moody and obviously knew that Moody didn’t trust Snape, that he would have told Moody so that Moody wouldn’t be wasting his time and effort keeping an eye on Snape as well.” 

“Unless...” Hermione’s brows furrowed; she looked more agitated and disconcerted than ever. “Unless Dumbledore _wants_ Moody to keep an eye on Snape too! ... Maybe Dumbledore isn’t so sure about Snape anymore, or maybe he doesn’t want to take any chances - either way, it would mean that Dumbledore doesn’t trust Snape completely.”

“Oh!” 

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about things now. It was one thing for he himself to still be suspicious of Snape, but the idea of Dumbledore’s certitude had nonetheless been somewhat reassuring; but if Hermione was more questioning too...

“Well, at least you’re just as paranoid as me now. I feel loads better!” he said only half-jokingly.

Hermione huffed irritably and rolled her eyes as she trod heavily beside him, her footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridor. Harry instantly felt a bit guilty.

“Here, give me that,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“What?”

“Your bookbag. I can carry it for you,” said Harry earnestly.

“But it’s heavy...”

“That’s why I want to carry it for you.”

“But you’ve got your own,” said Hermione, looking even more annoyed. “And yours is just as heavy!”

“Yes, but I’ve been living with the weight of everything for years,” said Harry quietly. “I can handle it.”

“Oh!” Hermione’s brown eyes widened with understanding, the irritation fading from her features. “That’s very sweet of you Harry, but really, I’m fine.”

“Please! Let me!” Harry begged. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to tease you! ... I’m just so used to dealing with the idea that people are out to get me and not always knowing who to trust that I kind of forget about it half the time when I’m not feeling paranoid the other half of the time. ... I didn’t really think about how awful it must be to have that sort of feeling if you’ve never really had it before.”

“Well...” Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered as she gave Harry a shy little smile. “...It’s not _quite_ the first time...” 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry nodded and smiled back sheepishly. “You were right about Sirius sending me the Firebolt even though he turned out not to be a maniac killer, and I know how worried you were for me... and you’ve been putting up with all the rubbish that comes with being my friend since First Year. But still... it’s not really the same, is it?” 

“No, it’s not,” Hermione admitted ruefully, lifting the bookbag from her shoulder. “Being worried for you certainly isn’t new, but not being sure about who I can trust _**is!**_ ... In First Year, after your first quidditch match, I was so _sure_ Snape was trying to do you in, and then after First Year I was so _sure_ that he _wasn’t_. 

“There was never really any uncertainty in-between. ... I’m sorry too, Harry. Even though I’ve always been _horribly_ worried for you, you’re always so brave about things that I still sometimes forget how horrible it must be from your perspective - never really knowing what’s going on - always trying to figure things out for yourself. It’s more than anyone your age should have to bear.

“Honestly, I don’t know how you manage it, Harry - the uncertainty about Snape after it turned out to be Quirrell - not knowing who the Heir of Slytherin was - finding out about Peter Pettigrew after he’d been under your nose the entire time - Barty Crouch Junior - always wondering if another teacher is possessed or another one of Voldemort’s minions - never being quite sure if you can trust Dumbledore...” 

“It’s not like that, Hermione,” Harry interjected quickly. “I _do_ trust Dumbledore! I always did! It’s just... he waited a bit longer to tell me things than I’d have liked him to - I wish he’d told me everything at the end of First Year when I first asked him. ... But yeah - I wish I knew what’s up with Snape, and all the other stuff you just said gets to me sometimes too.”

“That’s just it Harry” said Hermione, “what you said - it just hit a nerve! ... You were right - I _am_ more ‘paranoid’ now. ... Like _I_ said - I’m not so sure how much to trust Dumbledore’s judgment about Snape anymore, especially given his lack of judgment regarding your relatives. 

“Yes - I still trust Dumbledore by and large - especially as he’s done so much to look after you since we found out Crouch Junior - but I can’t be sure now that he’s always the best judge of character when it comes to determining which awful people deserve second chances.”

“Yeah, well... No argument from me on that score,” Harry sighed, reaching out his hand to take Hermione’s bookbag. “Now come on, hand it over.”

“My hero!” Hermione smiled at Harry as he slung her bag over his shoulder along with his own, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She took his arm, noting that Harry was remarkably light on his feet despite the weight on his shoulders as they traipsed through the nearly empty stone corridors to Charms...

**~o0o~**

It was after classes, during the little party celebrating Ron’s birthday at one end of the common room when a tan and white barn owl appeared outside one of the windows nearest to their table. The owl was flapping its wings mightily as it struggled to maintain position in the cruel wind whipping around the castle.

“Oh, the poor little thing,” said Lavender as she reached over and opened the window. 

The grateful barn owl hopped on the table past Lavender and Parvati, narrowly avoiding stepping in Ron’s birthday cake, and tried to straighten out a few of its wonky feathers. Then it peered around the table looking for the recipient of the small parcel it was carrying.

“Something for me?” said Ron hopefully, his eyes lighting up. 

“Er... It might be for me, actually,” said Harry, turning a bit pink; the barn owl looked familiar to him.

“Oh,” said Ron, looking vaguely disappointed.

Sure enough, as soon as the owl spotted Harry it hopped across the table and held out its talon. Harry undid the little parcel tied to its claw and gave it a slice of birthday cake. The owl greedily gobbled the cake getting crumbs everywhere while Harry eyed the package from “Snuffles,” not sure if he should open it at the table. Harry had almost forgotten that Sirius had promised to send him a package as it had been several weeks now since the fireside chat.

“Who’s it from, Harry?” asked Neville. 

“Oh, er...” 

Harry quickly tried to think of something to tell everyone; even though Minister Fudge and the head of the DMLE had rescinded the arrest warrant for Sirius, they were still holding off on issuing an exoneration of all charges against him until they had a bit more evidence than Barty Crouch Junior’s confession to prove that Pettigrew was still alive and working for Voldemort.

“...from an old friend of my mum and dad’s,” was the best that Harry could come up with on the spot.

“Oh!” Ron’s eyes widened in sudden understanding, all disappointment vanishing. “You shoug’openit‘arry,” he mumbled through a mouthful of birthday cake.

“You sure?” Harry shot Ron an apologetic look. “I can stay a bit and open it later.”

“‘S’okay, Harry!” Ron hastily swallowed the rest of the cake in his mouth and nodded. “Really! I’m fine - I’ll see you at dinner...”

“If you’ve got any room for dinner left,” said Ginny with a grin. “That’s your third piece of cake, Ron.”

“Thanks Ron,” said Harry, feeling relieved and glancing around the table at everyone. “Er... see you guys later then.”

“Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Ron,” said Hermione as she pushed her chair out to join Harry. She smirked a bit at Ron who was already going for a fourth piece of cake. 

Once back in his own quarters, sitting on the little sofa in the sitting room by the crackling fire with Hermione, Harry began to carefully undo the thick wrapping paper to reveal wads of crumpled tissue. Curiouser than ever, he began ripping at the tissue and was surprised to see a small mirror.

“Huh!” Harry scratched his head as he peered into it, seeing his own green eyes and feeling a bit puzzled. “I thought this was supposed to be a way to get in touch with Sirius. What am I supposed to do with this?”

Hermione bit her lip, pensively furrowing her brows.

“Try saying Sirius’s name,” she suggested after thinking a moment.

“Oh, er, alright!” Harry felt a bit silly speaking to a mirror and tried pretending it was a walkie-talkie. “Er... Sirius, you there? ... Come in, over.”

Nothing! Not even static! Harry glanced at Hermione for help. 

Hermione shrugged. “If Sirius has one too, he may not be right by his at the moment. Try again, and if there’s still no answer, you can try again in a little bit. You could also try leaving a message.”

“Like a telephone answering machine?” said Harry skeptically, thinking of the device that Uncle Vernon had attached to the phone in his home office for work calls.

“Why not?” said Hermione. “It’s a magic mirror for communication, right? But you can’t expect someone to be at the other end _all_ the time - it would be a bit odd if it _didn’t_ have that feature if you ask me.”

Harry made a little “Hmm” face and nodded. 

“Yeah - you’re right, Hermione! That would be weird if it didn’t. ... Okay, here goes again.” Harry cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Hey, Sirius, it’s me, Harry! ... Dunno if you can hear me or not - and I dunno if this thing takes messages - but, er... if it does - call me?”

Harry sort of cringed at the end, feeling stupider than ever, and he was about to put the mirror down and try to forget about it for an hour when he heard what sounded like a scrabbling sound. To his astonishment, the reflection in the mirror flickered and he briefly saw what looked like dark wood paneling before Sirius’s beaming face appeared.

“Sirius!” Harry nearly shouted, grinning. “It worked! Brilliant!”

“Yeah, it’s something isn’t it,” said Sirius. “I’m sorry I didn’t send it sooner - I thought I knew where it was - turfed out my whole room looking for it but I still couldn’t find it. So I’ve been cleaning up the basement and the attic the last couple of weeks, and finally I found it in my old school trunk under a pile of boxes in the attic...” 

“Is that Harry?” asked another familiar voice from the other side of the mirror.

“It’s him alright - he finally got it,” said Sirius, looking off to the side.

“Lupin?” gasped Harry. “Professor Lupin’s with you too?”

The face which appeared just behind Sirius’s shoulder answered Harry’s question.

“I can’t say I’m doing much professoring these days Harry,” said Lupin wryly. “Remus will do, if that’s alright with you.”

“Er... yeah, great! No problem... Remus!” Harry couldn’t believe it and the excitement he felt at seeing Sirius again doubled to see Lupin as well. “So, what are you doing at Sirius’s place?”

“Helping him clean it up,” Remus replied, his moustache twitching mirthfully “It’s filthy here...”

“That’s putting it kindly,” said Sirius, chuckling. “Anyway, is that Hermione I see with you, Harry?” 

Harry felt Hermione’s curls spilling over his shoulder as she leaned in to peer into the mirror too.

“Hi Sirius! Hi Prof... I mean Remus!” she squeaked, giving them a little wave.

“What about the others?” asked Sirius, a roguish look in his eyes. “Where’s the rest of the harem?”

Hermione let out a little “Eep!” and she and Harry both blushed like ripe tomatoes.

Remus whacked Sirius’s shoulder. “Sirius! You said you wouldn’t tease them!”

“Sorry!” Sirius chortled. “I couldn’t resist! ... Anyway, I’m just thrilled to see you looking the picture of health, Harry! You didn’t half give us both a fright when we heard how badly you’d been injured during the Second Task! ... So spill, you have to tell us all about it, Harry - what’ve we missed? Don’t spare any details.” 

Harry began to talk; Hermione curled an arm around his middle and snuggled closer to him, piping up every now and then and filling in little gaps in the information. They told Sirius and Remus everything they could think of: the Second Task, Goblin Assassins, theories about Bagman, Skeeter and the Harem stuff, and even Snape and Karkaroff and what Moody had to say about it. 

And as Harry let it all out - all of his worries and his fears, and all of the good and silly bits too - he felt a huge weight lifting from his shoulders.


	26. London Calling

“So,” Ron began when he caught up with Harry and Hermione the next day after classes; he was by himself for a change, with no Neville in tow for a reason which became readily apparent, “what’d Si -” he glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. “Er... Sirius,” he whispered, “Is it alright if I ask you what he sent?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” said Harry quietly. “And by the way - I never got around to telling you - just call him Snuffles.”

“Snuffles?” said Ron, looking highly amused. “Yeah - okay then. So, what’d he send you?”

“I’ll show you,” said Harry, “but not here.”

A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were outside, strolling along the pebbly shore of the lake. The day was sunny with very few clouds in the sky and ducks drifted by on the shimmering surface of the water. Harry reached into his robes and showed Ron the mirror.

“What’s that for?” asked Ron, chortling, “Putting on make-up?”

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. Harry grinned.

“Nah! It’s a communication mirror - Snuffles has one too. I can talk to him on it anytime I like now. I talked to him last night - him and Remus...” 

“Remus? You mean Professor Lupin?” 

“Yeah, he’s hanging out with Snuffles,” said Harry. “He told me to call him Remus seeing as he’s not a professor anymore. Anyway, Hermione and I, we talked to them a bit last night. I told them everything that’s been going on lately. ... Sirius doesn’t trust Snape either - oh, that reminds me, I talked to Professor Moody too yesterday.

“Moody said that Snape really was a Death Eater who switched sides and works for Dumbledore now. He thinks Dumbledore’s barking for hiring Snape but said that Dumbledore totally trusts him for some reason. Sirius pretty much said the same thing as Moody. ... He told us that Snape hung out with a gang of Slytherins in school that all ended up as Death Eaters - so he thinks Dumbledore’s crazy for hiring him too. 

“But _Remus_ said that if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must have a good reason to, and now I dunno what to think, really. ... I mean, I keep going back and forth - Sirius and Remus and Moody all said that Dumbledore totally trusts Snape - but Sirius and Moody don’t really trust Snape - and Remus reckons that if Dumbledore trusts him then we should too...” 

“But **_I’m_** not sure that Dumbledore does trust Snape completely,” Hermione interjected, “or if he does, then I’m not sure whether we can trust Dumbledore’s judgment about Snape.” 

“What? _You?_ ... Harry, have you checked Hermione for polyjuice potion?” Ron sniggered, and Hermione gave him a withering look.

“Bloody hell! You really mean it,” said Ron, gaping at her. 

“Yeah, she does,” said Harry seriously. “That’s why I’m even more confused than ever now...”

**~o0o~**

Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish eyed the run-down establishment on the outskirts of Cardiff warily, paying little heed as the rain grew heavier and the wind picked up. Passing muggles noticed the two men in trench-coats, no doubt wondering if the men were considering purchasing and renovating the long shuttered antique shop with boarded up windows.

Dawlish and Shacklebolt drew closer to the building, splashing through the puddles on the pavement, and out of the range of muggle eyes, which slid past the Aurors as if they weren’t there the moment they passed through the concealment and repelling charms which warded against nosy muggles. 

The true nature of the building readily became apparent, though it didn’t look in much better shape from within the wards. Dawlish looked up at the grimy sign swinging in the wind.

“The Red-Handed Fist,” Dawlish muttered, “Think we’ll have any better luck than we did at Bullwhip and Cleaver?” 

“If we’re lucky,” said Shacklebolt dryly; Dawlish snorted and shook his head. 

“Hey, at least we’ve got a name now,” Shacklebolt added. “That’s more than we had before.”

When Shacklebolt and Dawlish entered the dimly lit goblin pub, a number of heads swiveled, some of them scruffy looking wizards and witches. The goblins seemed far less disturbed than the humans, many of whom quickly averted their eyes and shrank in their seats, trying to make themselves look smaller. 

Shacklebolt and Dawlish ignored the wizards and witches, and ambled over to the bar, which was short and had a very scratched and stained surface. The goateed goblin bartender eyed the Aurors suspiciously. 

“Whaddya want?” growled the bartender. “Couple’a’ ales?”

“Actually, I was hoping you might direct us to Ugrot Jenkins,” said Shacklebolt politely as he retrieved a hefty leather pouch from his trench-coat. “You may know him better as ‘Ugly-face’ Jenkins. I can make it worth your while.” Shacklebolt shook the pouch and it jangled.

The bartender’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and his surly expression changed to one of unabashed avarice.

“That’ll cost you more’n’ a bit,” he said. “Jenkins ain’t one t’cross unless it pays good.” 

Shacklebolt smiled and tipped about a third of the pouch onto the bar-top. The pile of gold galleons glittered in the recessed lighting behind the bar, which was a bit brighter than the lighting in the rest of the tavern.

“Yeah - alright then,” said the bartender, quickly sweeping the galleons into his waistcoat pocket. “‘E’s that one over there.” The bartender jerked his head towards the rear of the pub.

“Which one?” asked Dawlish, frowning.

“Are you daft? The one with the ugly face o’ course.” 

Dawlish and Shacklebolt peered into shadowy reaches of the tavern where a dozen or more goblins were sitting at round tables or in dark booths. The bartender rolled his eyes. 

“The tall one with the squashed nose and short ears - the one ‘oo looks human.” 

Shacklebolt spotted the goblin who looked about a foot taller than the others and chuckled.

“Of course!” he said, “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” grunted the bartender.

Dawlish and Shacklebolt made their way past a group of rowdy goblins playing cards with two wizards, a goblin couple snogging, their hands all over each other, another goblin sobbing into his ale at the counter, and what appeared to be a goblin prostitute haggling over price with a potential client. 

They reached the rear of the pub unaccosted and made a beeline for the booth where Ugrot “Ugly-Face” Jenkins appeared to be counting a pile of galleons left behind by the disgruntled looking goblin who had just departed.

“Ugrot Jenkins?” said Dawlish.

“Depends ‘oo’s askin’?”

“I’m Shacklebolt, and this is Dawlish. We’re Aurors...”

“Of course yer Aurors,” Ugrot snorted. “I ain’t blind. Whaddya want with me?”

“Ludo Bagman...” Dawlish began.

Ugrot’s eyes widened. He snatched his bag of galleons from the table and darted from the booth, ducking down under Dawlish’s grabbing arms and dashing for the back-door of the pub. Infuriated at having let him slip past, Dawlish lurched after him, only to be halted by Shacklebolt. 

“No need to make a scene,” said Shacklebolt.

Dawlish scowled and followed Shacklebolt who was casually strolling to the back-door. The grey light of the rainy afternoon was almost blindingly bright as they both emerged from the darkness into the alley behind the pub.

“Gerrof! Gerrof me!” snarled Ugrot, who was struggling in the clutches of a smirking woman with short soggy brown hair and wearing a trench-coat which looked just like Shacklebolt’s and Dawlish’s. “You’ll be hearin’ from the Goblin Nation about this - I know people...”

“Doubtful,” said the very wet woman, “the National Inquiry Unit would be more than happy to let the Auror Office take the blame for removing a thorn in the side of legitimate bookmakers.” 

“Nicely done, Abbie,” said Shacklebolt, grinning.

“Yeah, well, I was trained by Mad Eye,” said Auror Abbie Brixton smugly, “I know a thing or two about takin’ down a suspect without using a wand.”

“I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong! Lemme go!” Ugrot was beginning to sound more desperate than angry now. “I got a sack full of galleons here - you can have the lot!”

“We’re not interested in your money,” said Shacklebolt, his voice calm. “And we’re not that interested in you either, to tell you the truth. We’re more interested in learning a bit more about Bagman’s dealings - finding out whether he’s just been doing business with small fry like you, or engaging with larger operations - say, one of the syndicates.”

“That’s more’n’ my life is worth t’tell you lot,” said Ugrot fearfully.

Shacklebolt retrieved the heavy money pouch from pocket of his trench-coat once more and shook it.

“There’s about seventy-five galleons left in here,” he said. “It’s not much compared to your life admittedly - but if you’re interested...”

“I’ll take it!” Ugrot blurted out, his eyes gleaming. “I dunno which syndicate they work for, but when I couldn’t cover Bagman’s side bets at the World Cup, he hooked up with a bunch a blokes ‘oo usually operate out of The Silver Sword on weekends. The boss’s name is Morag Gorhammer.”

“Thank you,” said Shacklebolt, tossing the hefty pouch of galleons as Brixton released Ugrot’s arms, “You’ve been very helpful, and nobody will hear about this little exchange from us.”

“Yeah, yeah!” said Ugrot unconcernedly as he shoved the pouch into one of the pockets of his vest. “Now if you don’t mind...”

“By all means, Mr. Jenkins,” Brixton smiled pleasantly. 

Ugrot hesitated a moment. Then he tugged his concealing talisman necklace from under his collar, darted down the alley towards one of the Cardiff streets, and disappeared around the corner of a brick building.

**~o0o~**

Later that evening, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville were quickly brought up to speed by Harry, Hermione, and Ron, minus the information about Sirius and Remus for the time being. At some point, Harry wanted to let them in on that too, but he reckoned that it was probably better to wait until it looked like Sirius was getting closer to being exonerated.

Lavender, who hadn’t been at the gathering by the lake the other day, was as shocked as Parvati and Neville had been at first to learn that Snape had once been - or might possibly still be - a Death Eater.

In the following weeks Harry and Hermione settled back into what was almost a normal existence at Hogwarts. Snape kept shooting them nasty, vicious looks during Potions, but otherwise he seemed to be laying off. 

Malfoy was giving them both equally dirty looks as well and scowling jealously whenever he saw them hanging out with Fleur, or Parvati and Lavender, or Ginny and Luna, or all of them together at once. The girls who had been hopefully offering themselves up as candidates to join the “Secret Harem” gradually dwindled. Nonetheless, Harry still didn’t have much opportunity to relax. 

Despite the Third Task still being months away, he found himself busier than he had ever been before: struggling to at least catch up to where one would normally be in Beginning Runes and Arithmency at this time of the school year, and continuing Legilimency and Occlumency lessons. Not to mention that Moody was running him and Hermione ragged, training them in tactics and spells, and practicing muggle fighting techniques was more bruising than ever.

Thankfully, Dora was insistent that they take some time off and Moody begrudgingly backed down from his plans to drill them all weekend as well. Dora herself had plans for a date with Fleur but was loath to leave Harry and Hermione without a “secret escort” at Hogwarts. 

And thus, despite there not being another official Hogsmeade day until the following month, Dora roped Harry and Hermione into joining her and Fleur for a double date with the permission of Dumbledore. Harry was a bit reticent at first, concerned as he was about running into Rita Skeeter again. 

“No worries, Harry,” Dora told him, “I was thinkin’ it’d be more fun to do some muggle stuff for a change anyway. When was the last time you went out on the town in London?”

Harry gaped at Dora in surprise. “Er... Never, actually. The only place I’ve ever been in London is King’s Cross.”

“Oh, right!” Dora scowled. “I forgot about that. Those bloody relatives of yours never took you anywhere fun.” 

“How are we going to get there?” asked Hermione, “By floo?”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ about staying off the grid and takin’ you two along by side-along Apparition. I figured it’d be better not to pop up in Diagon Alley and avoid being seen in the wizard world altogether.”

“What about the Trace?” Hermione asked, looking a bit anxious. “Harry may be emancipated, but I’m not.”

“Not a problem,” said Dora. “Apparition isn’t the sorta’ magic that triggers the Trace, and we won’t be needing our wands for anything in London...”

“Er... What about money?” asked Harry, seeing a snag in Dora’s plans to avoid Diagon Alley. “I’ll need to stop by Gringotts and change some galleons into muggle money.”

“I’ve got plenty of muggle money to cover expenses,” Dora retorted with a little smirk, having anticipated Harry’s query. “And I’m not taking no for an answer,” she quickly added as Harry opened his mouth to object.

**~o0o~**

Saturday in London was perhaps the best day that Harry had ever had as a “muggle.” He set off early in the morning with Hermione, Dora, and Fleur, down the path leading to the cast-iron gates. Once beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts, Fleur and Dora each took hold of one of the younger couple and vanished with two loud cracks.

The moment they reappeared in a small square somewhere in London with a marble statue of Merlin in the middle of a patch of grass, Harry and Hermione both doubled over and promptly threw up. 

“Blimey!” Harry grumbled as he recovered, “That was like being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste - my head felt like it was going to explode.” 

“Yeah - takes a bit of getting used to,” Dora agreed with a chuckle. “It’s pretty ‘orrible. I prefer a broom myself.”

“Oui!” Fleur tittered as she straightened out her skirt, “Ees not so bien. But ees better for when wearing a dress.”

Hermione glanced across the square when she heard several cars drive by and spotted some muggles on the pavement on the other side of the nearby road.

“Is this square invisible?” she asked, looking slightly puzzled. “Or is it like the hidden platform at King’s Cross?” 

“Actually, it’s bit more like Diagon Alley,” said Dora. “This is one of a few apparition spots in London, for use in daylight hours for wizards who want to visit the muggle world without making a stop in the Alley. It’s just got some concealing and muggle repelling charms so that no one will notice us comin’ and going.”

Harry looked behind him when he stepped off the grass onto the pavement and was astonished to see the statue and the lawn shimmer, then the square vanished altogether. In its place was a walled off empty lot with a for-sale sign tacked onto the plywood boards. Nobody seemed to have noticed them apparently emerging from the wall.

“That’s brilliant!” said Harry. “I love magic!”

“The things magic can do still surprises me too sometimes,” said Hermione, taking his arm.

A short bus ride on a bright red double-decker took them to Kensington Palace where they joined the first tour group of the day. As they followed the tour guide through the palace, Hermione beamed at Harry’s awed expression. 

“Wow!” he murmured, gawking at the enormous paintings with ornate gilded frames and the intricate murals on the ceiling. “I thought Hogwarts was pretty cool - I mean, it is, but this is really amazing.”

“Mum and Dad brought me here a few times,” Hermione said wistfully, “It really is quite opulent.” 

“Zis ees much like Beauxbatons,” said Fleur, who looked very impressed as she peered at the glittering crystal chandeliers above.

Once the tour was over, they strolled through the Kensington Gardens with its immaculate lawns and rows of flowers, all colours of the rainbow, and past fountains and statues, and around ponds with lily pads and graceful, haughty looking swans gliding across the rippling surface. By the time they’d had their fill of the beauteous surroundings, it was getting on for lunchtime and Harry was famished as they had skipped breakfast for their early start.

Another short bus ride took the foursome to Trafalgar Square where they had a look at the statue of Admiral Nelson perched atop his tall column and the flocks of pigeons strutting boldly across the square at the base.

“Blimey!” Harry muttered, as he squinted upward, “You can barely see him up there. What’s the point?”

“It does seem a bit silly,” Hermione giggled, and then she gave Harry a look, feeling a bit bewildered and sad. 

“So you’ve really never seen this - not on the television or in the newspapers?” slipped out of Hermione’s mouth; she kicked herself mentally, wishing she could take it back the moment she said it.

“Er... I probably have, actually. I just never paid it much attention I suppose,” Harry admitted, flushing slightly. “I probably saw it now and then whenever Uncle Vernon was watching the news - and probably in primary school too. I know I read about it during history lessons, but we went by it pretty quick.”

Harry felt a bit better when they found a fish and chip shop nearby and took it to eat in St. James’s Park. Sitting on a bench by a pond surrounded by weeping willows and hopeful looking ducks, he spied Buckingham Palace in the near distance. At least Harry recognised that. 

He thought about the only other landmarks of London that he remembered from school and news-clips - Big Ben and London Bridge - he couldn’t quite picture the Tower of London and he felt a flash of anger towards the Dursleys. Harry savagely squashed the feeling, not wanting to ruin his day with Hermione. Thankfully he had a big pile of fish and chips and a can of coke. 

Hermione smiled as she watched Harry’s expression change while he dug into his fish and chips with gusto, glad that she hadn’t spoiled Harry’s day out too much.

Happily for Harry, the next stop after lunch was a trip to the Tower of London. The cawing Ravens were the first things which caught Harry’s attention. He grinned for much of tour, reminded of Hogwarts as he and Hermione traipsed alongside Dora and Fleur across the stone battlements and through the stone corridors, past gleaming suits of armour.

Up winding stone staircases they went to see the rooms where some of the most famous prisoners had been kept. Harry felt a bit sick when the tour guide mentioned princes Edward and Richard, twelve and nine years old respectively, who were believed by many to have been murdered by their uncle.

“I remember this bit from primary school,” Harry whispered to Hermione, who looked a bit green around the gills herself. 

Even though she had learned about it in school too, and had been on the tour herself with her parents when she was younger, Hermione still found the tale appalling.

Harry was most surprised by the bit of the tour which brought them to the Crown Jewels.

“Blimey!” Harry exclaimed. “I can’t believe they keep them here. I would’ve thought they’d be kept somewhere a bit safer.”

The grizzled tour guide heard Harry and chuckled, “Yeh’d be mad ter try and rob ‘em,” reminding Harry strongly of Hagrid’s warning the day he’d entered Gringotts for the first time. 

“Got the most up ter date security measures on ‘em,” the guide carried on, “an’ even if yeh managed ter snatch ‘em, the guards’d be on yeh, lickety-split!” 

“...Yeh might even find yerself locked up in the Tower,” he concluded with another chuckle, giving the tour group a wink. 

“Zat was mos’ informative,” said Fleur, taking Dora’s arm and giving her a peck on the cheek when the tour was finished. “I deed not know so much about Britain before today. In Beauxbatons, we learn vairy leetle of non-magical history of France and Britain. Many thanks, Dora.” 

Dora turned a bit pink and grinned.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering through Fortnum and Mason and London’s oldest bookshop which was right next door, much to Hermione’s delight. Hermione beamed radiantly at Harry as she led him by the hand up and down the stairs, and through all the aisles.

“It’s got everything you can think of,” she gushed, “It’s _much_ better than W.H. Smith.”

Hermione was so excited to be giving Harry a tour of her favourite bookshop that she practically dragged Harry down a narrow aisle of tall bookshelves and snogged him silly at the far end by a window overlooking Piccadilly. When they came up for air Harry and Hermione both blushed furiously, spotting an elegantly dressed and coiffed woman smirking at them from the other end of the aisle.

“At least you two picked the most appropriate place in the shop,” the woman remarked in a clipped, very posh sounding accent. Then she plucked a paperback novel with a lurid cover featuring a half-dressed man and woman from the bookshelf and marched back toward the staircase.

“You chose this aisle on purpose, didn’t you?” said Harry, grinning when he realised that they were in the Romance section.

“Maybe!” Hermione squeaked, still pink with embarrassment. 

Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, still grinning at her. 

“Okay, _fine!”_ she admitted, glaring at him. “You got me! Are you happy now?”

“Yeah - I am actually!” 

Harry put his arms around her waist and drew her closer, his grin softening. Hermione bit her lip, her heart racing again as she looked into his sparkling green orbs. Their lips met again for another kiss, this one more languid and drawn out. 

Hermione let out a contented sigh when it was over, her arms still curled around Harry, her bushy head nestled against his chest, a smile on her face. For a few minutes longer they held each other and gazed out of the window at the streets of London before deciding it was time to go and find Dora and Fleur.

They made their way back down the staircase and looked around the shop. When Harry and Hermione found their companions, they were both surprised to see Fleur tittering as she and Dora flicked through the pages of a graphic novel.

“You’re into comics too?” Harry asked, looking somewhat bemused.

“Oui!” said Fleur, “Mos’ especially when zey are by French artiste - though ees actually French Belgian...” 

“Oh!” said Hermione, her eyes lighting up when she realised what it was they were reading. “Is that a Tintin book, then?” 

“Yeah!” Dora grinned. “‘They’re brilliant! I expect you’d like them too, Harry.”

“Er...” said Harry uncertainly.

“Yes, he would,” said Hermione, grabbing several of the graphic novels from the shelf next to Dora and Fleur, and then looking in her purse for her own muggle money which she kept in reserve during the school year, just in case.

“You don’t have to do that, Hermione,” said Harry quickly, “I probably won’t have a chance to pay you back until the summer.” 

“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione chirped. “I know you’ve got money in Gringotts, but this is just a present. You’ll love them - I promise!”

“Alright then,” said Harry, knowing better than to object as he rubbed at his itching scar. “Thanks Hermione.” 

Following the bookshop, Harry and Hermione both expected they would be returning to Hogwarts, but Dora had other ideas. She purchased a Guardian from the newsstand, and soon found an Indian restaurant nearby. She flicked through the pages while they waited for their dinner.

“Here we go,” she muttered, just as the waitress returned with samosas and bowls of curry and rice. “Right then, what sorta film do you guys wanna see?”

There was a bit of back and forth about the movies while they ate dinner. The food was very different from what Harry was used to eating at Hogwarts and the Dursleys, but he decided that he liked it. By the time everyone had finished, a film had been chosen: an American science fiction movie still running in a cinema not too far away.

“Ze actor - he ees Belgian also, like Hergé,” Fleur told Harry while Dora purchased the tickets. “I ‘ave seen heem before in movie when visiting non-magical cousins. He ees fightair - he fights like you an’ ‘Ermione are being trained to fight by Dora and zat Professor with ze funny eye - he ees a very pretty man.” 

“The actor ees pretty, I mean, not ze professor,” she added with a tinkling laugh.

Harry enjoyed the movie very much, and surprisingly, despite all of the action and Martial Arts scenes, he found it extremely thought provoking as well. 

Hermione’s warnings in third year about being careful not to be seen when they were using the Time-Turner seemed more apt than ever. Time-travel was clearly not something to be taken lightly - just the smallest change could make things go horribly wrong.

Harry’s scar prickled, and a slight shiver ran up his spine. He hoped that Voldemort never thought of using Time-Turners.


	27. La Petite Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more explicit version of this chapter is now available in the steamy version of this story.

The daytrip to London with Dora and Fleur had been a welcome respite, and Harry and Hermione both felt much more relaxed. Upon their return to the castle, Hermione decided to take the opportunity for another tryst with Harry, as they really hadn’t had a proper chance since before the Second Task. 

Harry had been more than amenable to the idea of Hermione staying the night again, and they retired to his quarters. While he cleaned his teeth and changed into his pyjamas Hermione bit her lip and peered again at the vial of potion which Madam Pomfrey had given her. 

She almost didn’t hear Harry returning from the bathroom and hurriedly shoved the vial into her bag, snatching her hand back and trying to look as nonchalant as possible, her heart thudding in her ears.

“Er… everything alright, Hermione?” asked Harry, a puzzled expression on his face.

Hermione’s eyes widened, her cheeks growing hotter. 

“What? Oh, er… just fine,” she squeaked. 

Harry hesitated a moment, but thankfully seemed to take her at her word. Hermione grabbed her bag and quickly made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, wearing her nightie and teeth cleaned, Harry was lying in bed chuckling and reading one of the graphic novels she had bought him.

“You were right, Hermione,” he said, looking up at her, “These are brilliant! Captain Haddock and Professor Calculus are hilarious. … And Thomson and Thompson sort of remind me of twin Fudges with bushy moustaches…” 

Hermione climbed into bed and curled up next to Harry, her anxiety melting away. She kissed him on the cheek and sighed happily, and read the Tintin book along with him, not surprised that Harry had picked _Destination Moon_ to read first.

When they had finished reading the graphic novel, Harry gave Hermione a soft green look with those pretty eyes of his, setting her heart aflutter. She wasn’t sure who started the kiss, but their lips connected, her hands pressed against his back, one of his tangled in her messy curls and cradling her head. 

Hermione felt all floaty, and gradually faded into oblivion…

**~o0o~**

Hermione woke up the next morning, her arm across Harry’s chest, her bushy head resting on his shoulder, feeling at once both happy that Harry was perfectly willing to let her move things along at her own pace, and determined not to let the next opportunity slip away. She wasn’t quite certain why she was so nervous about picking back up where they had left off after that shower together days before the Second Task.

She had thought it had something to do with all that silly “Secret Harem” stuff making her feel self-conscious at first, but it was clearly more than that. 

The gears in Hermione’s head started whirring as she worked through it while she listened to Harry’s gentle breathing. Ever since Madam Pomfrey had given her the potion Hermione had been holding back. As Hermione thought more about it things began falling into place. 

On the one hand, having the potion opened up the exciting prospect of not having to worry if things inadvertently progressed to the next level while she and Harry were messing around, but on the other, taking the potion as a precaution seemed like a commitment to something Hermione wasn’t sure she was ready for yet. 

Hermione was determined to have a bit more randy fun with Harry next weekend and she was tempted to just forget about the vial instead of working herself into a dither, but intellectually she knew that it was better to be safe than sorry just in case things did go “too far” while they were both getting hot and heavy. 

Bother it! She was just going to have to be a Gryffindor about things and that was that… Hermione felt lips pressing against the top of her bushy head.

“Everything okay?” 

“What? … Oh, er, yes,” squeaked Hermione; she tilted her head up, wondering how long he had been awake. “Just thinking. Good Morning, Harry.”

“‘Morning, Hermione.” He gave her a smile with that soft green look in his eyes again, then kissed her forehead. 

Hermione’s toes curled; she looked at Harry, her eyelashes fluttering shyly, feeling safe in Harry’s arms. They cuddled for a bit more, but then Harry began to extricate himself.

“Sorry, Hermione. Gotta use the loo… have a shower.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling slightly guilty as he clambered to his feet when her eyes caught the tent in his pyjama bottoms.

“Wait,” she called out when he was half-way to the bathroom door, “I’ll join you.”

Harry hesitated a moment. 

“Only if you really want to. You don’t have to,” he said when the moment passed.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione was on her feet, trotting over to Harry’s side. She took his hand and kissed him on the cheek.

“I want to,” she said, beaming radiantly at him. 

Hermione waited a moment for Harry to use the toilet then entered after she heard it flush. She tugged off her nightie and grinned. Moments later they were both naked, and in the shower, the steam rising around them.

First things first, thought Hermione as the hot water rained down on her and Harry, and she reached out to take him in hand. 

Grinning, Harry responded in kind. Hermione felt a bit giddy as they showered each other with their affections a bit more vigorously. The next thing she knew, a surge of euphoria swept through her. Gasping, she fell forward dizzily against Harry’s chest.

They both held each other in the dazed afterglow under the hot spray of water, enjoying the moment. Then, both of them grinning, Hermione and Harry soaped each other all over, and by the time they had finished rinsing they had brought each other to completion once more.

**~o0o~**

Neville and Ron, both of whom were intently focused on their eggs and bacon, looked up when they heard giggles, and spotted Harry and Hermione arriving late for breakfast.

Students often rolled in late for breakfast on Sunday mornings though, so that wasn’t surprising in and of itself. Something did seem a bit different about them though, Ron thought. For one thing, they both looked more at ease than they had in ages, but that only made sense given their date in London yesterday. So why were Ginny and Luna, and Lavender and Parvati all giggling? 

Ron shared a look with Neville, who looked equally bewildered. 

Neville shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said quietly. 

Ron eyed the giggling girls again and shook his head.

“Mental!” he muttered, stuffing an entire piece of jammy toast into his mouth.

A light seemed to go off in Neville’s head; he leaned in closer to Ron and whispered in his ear.

“Maybe Harry and Hermione—you know—maybe they, er... _‘did it’_ last night. … Seamus told me that girls have a sixth sense for that sort of thing.”

Ron’s eyes boggled, and he choked on his toast. He coughed and wheezed. Alarmed, Neville smacked Ron on his back and Ron coughed up a piece of toast.

“Thanks, Nev,” said Ron hoarsely, taking a deep swig of water.

“Are you alright, Ron?” asked Hermione; she and Harry both shot him looks of concern.

“Oh… er, yeah!” said Ron, unable to look either of them in the eye, his ears reddening, “Just—you know—swallowed the wrong way.”

“That’s what you get for trying to eat a whole piece of toast at once,” Neville chimed in to reinforce Ron’s fib.

Fortunately, Harry and Hermione seemed to accept that story and Neville and Ron returned to their breakfasts, both of them looking a bit red in the face.

**~o0o~**

It was early Tuesday morning and Madam Amelia Bones had just sat down and taken her first sip of tea when her curly-haired secretary poked her head through the door.

“There’s Dumbledore and a French Auror here to see you Ma’am.”

Madam Bones quickly unscrewed her monocle and put her brand-new half-moon spectacles on instead.

“Send them in, send them in.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

A French Witch followed Dumbledore into Madam Bones’s office. The witch had high cheek bones, her sleek black hair was tied back, and she was wearing an elegantly cut pastel-blue trench-coat bearing the emblem of the French Auror office. Her glacier blue eyes were as piercing as Dumbledore’s.

“Would you like some tea?” Madam Bones offered politely.

“Ah, yes, thank you Amelia,” said Dumbledore.

“Merci, please,” said the French Auror, “Zat would be vairy nice.”

“If I may,” said Dumbledore while Madam Bones poured two cups of tea, “allow me to introduce Inspector Charlotte Duerre.”

“Indeed Albus. A pleasure to meet you, Inspector Duerre,” Madam Bones passed the French Auror a steaming teacup. 

“Ze pleasure ees mine,” returned Inspector Duerre graciously, taking a sip of the tea.

“I presume the French investigation of the Sea-Serpent and the Water-Sprites is complete, then,” said Madam Bones after taking a sip of her own, hoping it would ease the knot of tension forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Quite so, Amelia,” said Dumbledore, his twinkles fading, which only served to increase Madam Bones’s unease. “I am afraid that things are just as I feared.”

“This ees ze full report,” said Inspector Duerre, placing a file-folder on Amelia’s desk. “In brief, I say zis—the Sea-Serpent, and ze Watair-Sprites, they show clear signs of tampering. Our forensic analysis revealed zat ze Confundus Charme and ze Targeting Charme were used on all creatures. … Ze Targeting Charmes were of course attuned to ‘Arry Pottair. Wizout the wands of ze casters, we cannot be certain who cast zem of course. But zat ees not within our purview.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Madam Bones sighed, setting her teacup on her saucer and massaging her forehead. “That would be mine—and unfortunately, there are very few who had both the access and the motivation to target Mr. Potter.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Though, it is highly doubtful that Percy Weasley—for all his closeness to the Senior Undersecretary—is the responsible party. That leaves Bagman himself, and whoever assisted him in stocking the lake with the sprites and the serpent. However, …”

“…it is most likely that he was either instructed by Dolores, or Lucius Malfoy, or both, to carry out the actions,” said Madam Bones. “But for the time being there is no proof. … If we can definitively tie Ludo to illegal goblin bookmakers, though, then we shall at least have something with which to pressure him into providing testimony as to whom ordered him to target Mr. Potter.”

“And how is that avenue of investigation coming along?” asked Dumbledore, stroking his long silvery beard pensively. “Have you heard yet from Kingsley?” 

“He and his team do have a lead,” Madam Bones replied, hoping that it would pan out. “With a bit of luck, we should know more after next weekend.”

“Good!” Dumbledore nodded. “The sooner we can determine who is most responsible and make an arrest, the sooner we can focus on what is arguably the graver threat…”

**~o0o~**

By the time Friday rolled around, Hermione’s anticipation was high. No longer feeling as awkward and self-conscious about things, Hermione took Harry’s arm as they made their way to his quarters after dinner. Nonetheless, her cheeks did grow a bit warmer when Fleur and Dora said goodnight, giving them both canny looks.

This time, while Harry was changing and cleaning his teeth, without a second thought Hermione downed the entire contents of the crystal vial which had been in her bag for nearly three weeks. Now, whatever happened between her and Harry, she was completely prepared.

Hermione changed and cleaned her teeth after Harry, feeling more confident than ever. When she returned to Harry’s bedroom, Hermione was certain she would find him reading _The Seven Crystal Balls_ , as he had read the sequel to _Destination Moon_ last Sunday.

Instead, to Hermione’s surprise, she found Harry sitting on the bed, engrossed as he pored over a heavy, ancient looking tome. Her eyes widened as she drew nearer. The cracked leather binding and yellowed parchment looked unnervingly familiar. Harry glanced up suddenly at her, looking like a fox caught in headlights, and slammed the book shut. 

Great! That was the last thing she needed, Hermione fumed internally, a panicked Harry now that she was all ready for whatever may come of things.

“Er… What are you reading, Harry?” she asked as evenly as possible, hoping that she was wrong.

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, his cheeks looking like ripe cherries. “I mean… er, it’s just one of the old books on the bookshelf. It’s kind of boring really…”

Now that she was close enough, Hermione’s eyes could make out the embossed title and she inwardly groaned to have her suspicions confirmed: _Charmes for the Boudoir of the Moste Beauteous._

Maybe the situation could still be salvaged though. If Harry was feeling even as half as aroused by reading that one certain chapter as she had been, she might be able coax him out of his anxiety. This would take a very cautious strategy.

“You know,” Hermione began, with what she hoped was a sultry look in her eye—the look she had seen Fleur give Dora more than once, “that looks like the book I found the spell to charm your mirror with, and _**I**_ didn’t think it was boring at all. There was one chapter in particular which I found to be very interesting—exciting even.”

“Th-there was?” Harry gulped.

“There was! I was hoping that eventually we could put some of it to good use together.”

“Really?” 

That tone was good—more confident. The expression on Harry’s face was good too—less guilty looking.

“Really,” said Hermione, sitting on the end of Harry’s bed.

“You don’t mind that I was looking at, er… pictures of other girls, erm… _doing things_?”

“Do you mind that _**I**_ was looking at the pictures of other girls doing things?” asked Hermione, fluttering her eyelashes innocently and biting her lower lip.

“Er… not really, no!” said Harry, looking as if he was trying to work out whether that was really the same thing or not.

“Well, I don’t really mind either,” she said, then added quickly, “as long as it makes you think of me.”

When Harry gave her a lopsided grin and said, “Always,” Hermione let out an inward sigh of relief and crawled up beside him. 

“Then we don’t really need all this on, do we?”

She began to undo the buttons of Harry’s pyjama top and let it fall open, exposing his chest and abdomen, then she pulled her nightie over her head and chucked it to the end of the bed. Hermione helped Harry out of his shirt completely, leaving on his pyjama bottoms, and straddled his waist with nothing on but her knickers. 

Hermione jiggled a bit and grinned at the goofy expression on Harry’s face as he eyeballed her. His hands seemed to reach out of their own accord and she leaned over to kiss him heatedly. The rising passion stirred them both and soon they were entwined, arms around one another, skin against skin, nuzzling each other’s necks, fingers running through messy brown curls and unruly black hair. 

Emboldened, Harry’s lips traveled further than they ever had before, and Hermione let out a little moan in response. They moved together feverishly as their mutual ministrations intensified. 

Hermione was already dazed by the cascading crescendo of ecstasy rushing through her veins when Harry groaned beneath her. He slackened, and Hermione slumped atop him, both of them sweaty and panting as one, fading into a foggy afterglow of bliss.

**~o0o~**

Certain that Harry and Hermione were bonking now, Ron’s libido was in full force. One by one, Ron peered at his half of the stack of photos that he and Neville had been collecting after checking Harry’s fan-mail for “booby-traps” the last couple of weeks, grateful that Harry had shown him how to use the Silencing Charm on his curtains at night.

His heart racing as he ogled the pictures of naked and scantily clad girls, Ron’s imagination ran wild and he reached his hand under the covers to sort himself out…

**~o0o~**

A thin layer of cloud passed across the full moon as the wind whistled under the eaves of the deteriorating ivy-covered manor at the top of the hill. Only the faintest glimmer of light in an upstairs window offered any indication that the abandoned, once-stately home might be inhabited.

Had anyone been brave enough to venture through the overgrown grounds during the dark of night, then to creep silently up the stairs after passing over the threshold, they would have witnessed a paunchy balding man with beady bloodshot eyes and a pointy nose groveling before a tattered armchair, eerie shadows cast by the sputtering candles in the dusty room full of cobwebs. They might have noticed an enormous snake shrouded in darkness as it lay curled near the open door. And they would have heard the voice, thin and icy as it professed to the man with rat-like features.

“I tire of waiting Wormtail—biding my time in the house of he who denied me—waiting to no purpose...”

Wormtail swallowed nervously as he prostrated himself before his master, hoping that the Dark Lord’s disappointment at not having the one he truly wanted would be assuaged enough by the prospect of soon being restored.

“The fools who believe I am dead shall suffer my immeasurable wrath,” the Dark Lord hissed, “And I can no longer tolerate this residence, this reminder of imperfection, while waiting for something which will never happen—waiting for the Blood of Potter when there are none to retrieve him for me by stealth—or waiting for his death at the hand of another when by rights Potter’s life belongs to me.

“You were right, Wormtail...”

Wormtail’s eyes grew a little bigger, his trepidation easing at the barest hint of praise. 

“…And if I must forgo Potter’s Blood, then no purpose is served by taking the Bone of the Father... You did well to find me a young Pureblood in Potter’s stead... Bring forth the boy, Wormtail, that the ritual might begin—midnight fast approaches.”

“Y-yes Master... of course...”

Thrilled at his good fortune, delighted that everything was going as planned, Wormtail scurried across the room and lifted what looked like a small bundle being guarded near the doorway by Nagini. His eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight, breath quickening with excitement, Wormtail placed the small petrified boy upon the makeshift altar. The Dark Lord’s oozing homunculus leaned forward in the threadbare armchair, his slit-like nostrils flaring in anticipation.

As he picked up a long silver dagger with the hand which was missing a finger, a savage joy curled the corners of Wormtail’s lips; he was thankful beyond measure that this particular ritual did not require the Flesh of the Servant. His voice nearly shaking with demented glee, Wormtail began to utter the incantation for the alternate ritual.

_“One life for another, taken by force... Consumed by the Shadow, your flesh and your blood shall replace what was lost... Devoured by the Spirit, you shall resurrect Him...”_

The ceremonial blade in Wormtail’s hand flashed as it came down, and a blood-curdling shriek echoed throughout the decaying manor.


	28. Lord of the Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for this chapter:** Some mildly Mature content. (not explicit enough to warrant a whole "steamy" chapter).

Hermione slid off Harry and bolted upright on her knees, her face white with fear when Harry started thrashing wildly and moaning. His messy hair was damp, his forehead was covered with beads of cold sweat, and his eyes were still shut. He was obviously having one of his nightmare visions again. This one looked much worse than last time.

She shook him vigorously.

 _“Harry!”_ she yelled. “Wake up!”

Hermione shook him again, tears running down her cheeks.

“Wake up, Harry! Please!”

She tried kissing Harry. But even that didn’t seem to be working this time, and Hermione began to panic. 

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione clambered back on top of Harry’s shaking body and wrapped herself tightly around him, feeling his cold, clammy skin against her own. She pressed herself against him, her boobs squashed against his chest, and peppered his face with kisses, hoping that she could bring him out of it by forcefully asserting her presence. 

It seemed like it might be working. His eyelids were flickering, and she could just make out between his ragged gasps and hisses something which sounded very much like, “… ‘rmione.” In a last-ditch effort to bring Harry round, still squirming against his writhing torso, she slipped one of her hands under the waistband of his damp pyjama bottoms and fondled him, ignoring the sticky reminder of their earlier engagement. 

It was no doubt a highly unorthodox method of revival, but it worked. Harry’s eyes snapped open, his face contorted and pale. Hermione scrambled off him immediately to give him a chance to breathe—just in the nick of time.

Harry heaved once, his cheeks puffing out, and leaned over the side of the bed. He violently heaved again, vomiting on the floor; he couldn’t seem to stop throwing up, retching even after he had clearly emptied the contents of his stomach.

Hermione didn’t want to leave his side, but at this point she knew she needed help. Sobbing, she darted out of his quarters into the drafty stone corridor without bothering to waste time finding a robe and banged loudly on Dora’s door.

It opened moments later, revealing a bleary eyed pink haired figure in a fuzzy nightgown. 

“Hermione what…?” Dora’s eyes popped when she saw Hermione’s state—practically naked except for her knickers, damp disheveled hair, and tears streaming from her cheeks.

“It’s Harry! He’s really ill,” she cried. “He can’t stop throwing up.”

“Blimey!” Dora muttered; she scurried quickly to Harry’s quarters with Hermione, a bewildered looking Fleur following behind them. 

The three witches found Harry still dry-heaving, and Hermione let out some more sobs. 

“Finite Vomite,” Dora incanted, flourishing her wand.

Harry’s retching ended, and he slumped on his bed, panting heavily. Even in her distraught state, Hermione managed to mentally file that spell away for future use. 

Fleur murmured, “Evanesco,” waving her wand at the floor, and the pile of sick vanished. 

Feeling less panicky now, Hermione conjured up a glass of water and sat on the bed next to Harry. He took the glass gratefully and gulped it down.

“Not so fast,” said Hermione, “You don’t want to make yourself throw up again.”

“I can still taste it…” he said, looking revolted and anguished, then gulped down more water. 

“What the hell happened?” asked Dora. 

“Somezing ‘e ate per’aps?” asked Fleur.

Harry just kept drinking water, averting his eyes and looking disturbed and ashamed.

“I think Harry had another one of those nightmare visions—this one was really bad,” said Hermione. “It was awful! I couldn’t wake him up until—” Hermione caught herself and turned pink.

“Dumbledore…” Harry gasped between gulps of water, still looking like he wanted to throw up some more, “…Gotta talk to Dumbledore.”

“We gotta get you to the hospital wing first,” said Dora. “Fleur, maybe you could get Dumbledore, tell ‘im to meet us there? You know where ‘is office is?”

“Oui, chérie, of course.”

Hermione looked around wildly, spotting her dressing gown which she quickly wrapped around herself and knotted the belt, then she picked up Harry’s.

“Come _on_ , Harry!” she said, grabbing at his hand and pulling him to his feet. “You can drink more water in the hospital wing.” 

“Gotta get this taste out of my mouth…” 

Exasperated, Hermione refilled his water glass with the Aguamenti charm as she dragged him out of his door and through the corridors to the hospital wing, following on Dora’s heels.

Madam Pomfrey’s sleep-heavy eyes shot wide open when she saw Harry looking so ill. 

“In the bed, now, Mr. Potter,” she said crisply, taking the glass of water from his hands. 

“I need that,” Harry protested, looking extremely distressed as he clambered on top of the hospital bed, “Please!”

“In a minute, Mr. Potter, if I deem it appropriate...”

“But—”

Anxiously, Hermione sat down beside Harry and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, telling him, “It’ll be alright, Harry. Madam Pomfrey will sort you out.”

She heard footsteps and turned to see Dumbledore—in a woolly nightgown—entering the hospital wing with Fleur.

“Professor Dumbledore,” gasped Harry, his eyes turning into saucers, “You’ve got to hurry—” he gasped again, “—before he’s gone…” Harry was having trouble catching his breath.

“Slow down Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “Slow down and tell me what it is that you saw from the beginning.”

“Voldemort,” said Harry; Madam Pomfrey winced but continued performing her diagnostic charms, “I saw Voldemort and Wormtail and… and…” Harry heaved and threw up some of the water over himself.

Madam Pomfrey quickly waved her wand before Harry could heave again. Harry tried tell Dumbledore what happened once more, his face contorted with revulsion and dread.

“There was a little boy—maybe eight or nine—they had him—they… Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew—he said some sort of spell and killed the boy with a knife. It was horrible—there was blood everywhere! Wormtail—he… he…” 

When Harry couldn’t bring himself to say it, Hermione’s jaw dropped in horror, suddenly realizing what he had been on about.

“Harry said he could still _taste_ it,” she said shrilly, turning to face Dumbledore, “I think Peter Pettigrew must have given Voldemort some of the boy’s blood to drink…”

Harry nodded vigorously, then winced and clutched at his scar. 

“Worse…” he just barely managed to choke out.

Dumbledore looked pained and rubbed at his crinkling forehead, sighing.

“Harry,” he said gently, “Did Pettigrew cut the boy’s heart out and feed it to Voldemort?”

Harry nodded again, then winced and clutched his scar again, and Hermione squeaked as his grip on her hand tightened.

“I was… it was like **_I_** was eating it,” said Harry, “I can’t stop tasting it—feeling it in my stomach.” 

“And Voldemort—he is restored, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is,” said Harry, looking exceedingly grateful that Dumbledore seemed to understand and was talking him through it.

“You said I had to hurry—‘before he’s gone.’ Did you see where he is, then?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, starting to nod, then catching himself, “It was more like I… like he was just thinking about it though. I didn’t actually see it. He’s at his dad’s house—in some place called Little Hangleton—it’s a manor. He was sick of living there and wanted to leave before calling his old supporters. I don’t know how long he’ll be there—he made it sound like they were going to leave tonight.”

“Then you are quite correct, Harry,” said Dumbledore, “I must make haste if I am to have a hope of catching him. But before I depart, I must ask you—do you believe that he sensed your presence in his mind?”

Harry shook his head, then groaned in pain; apparently shaking his head made his scar hurt just as badly as nodding at the moment. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “That dream control training we’ve been doing really helped. While he and Wormtail talked, before… before it happened, I was able to see and feel everything that Voldemort did—I could even see what he was thinking with the legilimency—but I managed to keep my occlumency up, so I’m pretty sure that he didn’t notice me, except…”

Harry paused for a moment, looking thoughtful and slightly sick again.

“There might have been a moment as he… er, ate… erm, it… and began to change. I sort of lost control a bit.”

“Quite understandable,” said Dumbledore reassuringly. “I doubt that even I could have maintained control under such horrific circumstances.” 

Harry looked surprised and a bit pleased with himself.

“He didn’t seem to think it was me though,” Harry continued. “He thought it had something to do with the change—like maybe he was sensing the boy’s soul or something.”

“Very good,” said Dumbledore, peering at Harry with a look of satisfaction and pride on his face. “You have done very well indeed, Harry. Now, I’d best be off—it would appear that I have an appointment to keep with an old student of mine.”

As Professor Dumbledore departed the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey took charge again, handing Hermione three vials of potion. Hermione didn’t need to be told what to do.

“Down the hatch, Harry!”

Without argument, Harry allowed Hermione to tip the pain potion and calming draught into his mouth. Hermione peered at the second vial of calming draught uncertainly, wondering if she was supposed to give Harry that one too.

“That one is for you, Miss Granger,” said Madam Pomfrey kindly. “You look like you need it.”

Hermione turned a bit pink, suddenly realising that she must look a complete wreck, and downed the contents of the vial without a word.

“Right then,” said Madam Pomfrey, returning to her more businesslike demeanor, “Now, let’s get you two into some clean nightclothes—I’m sure Mr. Potter doesn’t want to wear that wet dressing-gown, and I expect you would much prefer to wear something which affords you a bit more modesty while you’re in the hospital wing.”

“Oh no!” Hermione moaned, noticing the gapped opening of her dressing-gown for the first time; the knotted belt had come undone. 

Blushing furiously, she quickly tugged the two sides together, covering her exposed figure.

“How long?” she asked Madam Pomfrey, Dora, and Fleur, “Dumbledore—did he see?”

Dora and Fleur both turned a bit pink themselves and shot Hermione apologetic looks.

“Sorry, Hermione,” said Dora, “If it’s any comfort, I’m pretty sure Dumbledore was just focused on Harry.”

“Indeed!” said Madam Pomfrey, her features softening again as she waved her wand at the bed next to Harry’s, “Now go on, dear, there’s a clean nightgown—you can change behind the curtain.

**~o0o~**

Finally, after all the panic and fuss, it was over. Both of them in clean, dry nightclothes, Hermione had left her own hospital bed and was cuddled up with Harry in his. Dora and Fleur were in their own beds, guarding the door of the infirmary.

Hermione could feel Harry absentmindedly stroking her hair and thought she should feel more comforted. But even after the calming draughts, Hermione could still feel Harry’s tension.

“It was supposed to be me,” Harry muttered, breaking the silence; he almost sounded like he was speaking to himself. “It was supposed to be me—because Voldemort couldn’t have me, a little boy is dead…”

Hermione sat upright and glared at Harry, right into his green eyes, her chest heaving, her nostrils flaring with emotion.

“Harry Potter—don’t you _**dare**_ blame yourself! Do you hear me? … Stop it, right now! … What do you think Voldemort was going to do once he’d killed you? … Do you think he was going to stop killing people? … Of _course_ not! 

“He’s going to keep on killing people until he’s got everything he wants, and then he’s going to kill people just for fun! But because you’re alive, we’ve actually got a chance of stopping him…”

“But—the little boy…” Harry faltered, anguish in his eyes, “…you don’t understand…”

“Harry, I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for you—but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. That wasn’t you—alright? … _**You**_ didn’t drink the little boy’s blood— _ **You**_ didn’t eat his heart—that was _**Voldemort!**_ …Not you! 

“I’m sorry the little boy is dead—just as sorry as you are, Harry—but it’s not going to do you any good if you keep blaming yourself for something you didn’t do! Got it?”

Harry nodded, only wincing slightly. 

“Okay!” he said in a small voice. “I’ll try not to.”

Hermione’s features softened, and she smiled sadly at him.

“I’ll be here to remind you, Harry. I’m not going anywhere—that’s a promise!”

**~o0o~**

“So, this is it, eh?” growled Alastor Moody as he peered at the moonlit village at the bottom of the dark hill, “The village where Voldemort came from?”

“Ah, technically, no,” said Dumbledore. “I found young Tom Riddle in a muggle orphanage in London, where his mother had died after giving birth to him. … That is why tracking down his roots has proved so difficult over the years. All I had to go on was his last name, and there are no Riddles in the wizard world, but quite a few in the muggle world in a nation which is today over sixty million strong.”

“You don’t say!” Moody retorted dryly.

A cracking report issued and a short-haired woman in a trench-coat appeared behind them, silhouetted against the full moon. 

“No Kingsley?”

“Nice t’see you too, Mad-Eye!” the shadowy woman chuckled. “Shacklebolt an’ Dawlish couldn’t get away. They’re stakin’ out some goblins…”

“Course they are,” Moody muttered. “At least they sent someone competent.”

The woman chuckled again. “It’s me and Mulligan tonight—he’s already canvassing the other side of the village. The chief is on alert, ready to send a whole squad if we need ‘em.” 

“Very good, Auror Brixton,” said Dumbledore, sounding satisfied. “If, as I suspect, Voldemort is already departed, the four of us should suffice.”

Mad Eye snorted. “‘Suffice’ my arse—you make it sound like you couldn’t take on Voldemort and one pipsqueak minion all by your lonesome!”

Dumbledore said nothing in response, but even in darkness and shadow, his twinkling eyes were caught in the same moonlight which shone from the silvery lining of his beard.

“Well then,” said Dumbledore as he peered at the woods and hills surrounding the village, “that, on the hill over there, appears to be the only residence which would qualify as a manor.”

There were three loud cracks and the wizards vanished.

**~o0o~**

“So, this is Riddle Manor,” Dumbledore murmured to himself after looking through half of the dusty downstairs rooms, “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Moody grunted as he lurched from a dark entryway, his wooden leg clunking on the cracked tile floor of the foyer.

Dumbledore was saved from having to answer the question by a shout from upstairs.

“Bloody ‘ell!” Brixton called down, her voice sounding shaken, “I found where they were at—it’s ghastly!”

Dumbledore hurried up the splintering stairs, Moody clomping up behind him. The headmaster of Hogwarts peered into the room currently lit only by his and Abigail Brixton’s wands, but he could still smell smoke and candlewax, indicating that Voldemort and Pettigrew had not long departed. 

Ghastly was, if anything, an understatement. Dumbledore wrinkled his nose in disgust and disappointment. As poor Harry had indicated, blood was everywhere, and the boy’s corpse, desecrated, was unbearable to look at.

“Bloody blazes!” growled Moody, who had just entered behind Dumbledore. “That’s the worst I’ve seen since the last war!”

“It is indeed,” sighed Dumbledore, “In any case, as distasteful as this may be, a bit more light is required to examine the scene properly.”

Dumbledore aimed his wand at the chandelier above, and bulbs long dead flared to life. The tableau—a vision of horror in the half-lit darkness—was no less gruesome in a room full of light. Where once had been black and shades of grey, were now scarlet streaks and puddles around the makeshift altar upon which the boy’s body lay, surrounded by half-melted candles.

Tearing his eyes away, feeling rather ill, Dumbledore turned his gaze upon the rest of the cobwebbed, dusty sitting room. There was some blood spatter on the peeling wallpaper, but that was not what he was looking at.

What had caught his attention was some of the detritus left behind by the room’s most recent inhabitants. Apparently, Pettigrew had taken to eating takeout from muggle restaurants—no doubt to avoid being discovered in the wizard world.

Dumbledore began rooting through the rubbish in the corner of the room, finding what he was looking for, empty cans and bottles of muggle fizzy drinks.

“Auror Brixton, if you would please collect up these drink containers and take them back the D.M.L.E. I believe an examination will reveal Pettigrew’s essence—his saliva to be precise—and thus his presence at the scene of this crime. I presume the D.M.L.E. still has Pettigrew’s finger in the Evidence Storage Vault?”

“As far as I know, yeah,” said Brixton. “We should be able to get a match.”

“Excellent! Once that has been determined, Madam Bones and Minister Fudge should have everything they need to issue a Decree of Exoneration for Sirius Black.”

“I’ll see to it, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded and was about to voice his gratitude when an ethereal, silvery fox emerged from the tattered curtains covering the windows. The ghostly fox lit upon the floor, and an echoey human voice emanated from its mouth.

“Auror Reynard Mulligan here,” the voice said unnecessarily, “I’ve got something over on the east side of the village, about a half-mile out along the road into town—a run-down shack. Looks like a wizard family used t’live here—I’m detecting fairly high levels of residual Dark magic. … Also, looks like the place belonged to the Gaunt family, judging by the crest on the door frame above the threshold.” 

The misty, etheric fox faded into nothingness and Dumbledore raised his bushy white eyebrows at Moody and Brixton.

“The Gaunt family,” said Dumbledore, “Now that _is_ interesting. A dead family line if I’m not mistaken.”

“Probably where Riddle’s mum came from,” said Mad Eye gruffly.

“I’m not so sure the family line is completely dead,” Brixton chimed in, looking pensive. “I think there’s a Gaunt in Azkaban—dunno if ‘e’s still alive though. I can check the records when I get back to the Ministry.”

“Very good!” said Dumbledore, “I would like to interview him if he is indeed still among the living. In any case, if you would please continue cataloguing the crime-scene, Alastor and I shall visit the Gaunt cottage.”

“And we’ll send Mulligan back t’help you clean up this disaster,” Moody muttered.

**~o0o~**

The full moon was still high, surrounded by twinkling stars against the canopy of night, shining down upon the two wizards on the road. Only the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl broke the silence. 

From the crumbling country lane full of potholes, in the darkness, it was difficult to make out the hovel shrouded in the black shadows under the copse of gnarled, ancient oak-trees. If it weren’t for the flicker of wand-light through the broken window, Dumbledore might not have spotted it.

As it was, Moody spied it first with his swiveling “Mad Eye.”

“Must be the place,” he grunted, jerking his head towards the shack.

Dumbledore nodded and lit his wand. Together, he and Moody left the road and strode up the weedy, overgrown cobblestone pathway towards the wretched hovel. 

As they drew closer, it became easier to see in their wand-light. The small cottage was in worse condition than the Shrieking Shack. Nettles and moss crawled up its rotting walls, the sagging roof was full of holes and looked near collapse. The door was nearly falling off its hinges, and nothing was left in the windows but a few shards of grimy glass.

Dumbledore’s trepidation grew as they approached the door. He could palpably sense the Dark magic; the hovel almost seemed to be shrouded by an invisible cloud of evil. The door creaked and rattled as he pushed it open.

“There you are,” said Auror Mulligan, “I was about to send out another Patronus message.”

“Just bein’ cautious,” Moody growled. “You can never be too vigilant.”

Mulligan shook his head and chuckled. “Course not! Anyway, there’s not much to see here, but I reckoned it might have a connection to Voldemort.”

“I do believe you are correct, Auror Mulligan,” said Dumbledore as he stepped through the doorway.

Splintery floorboards groaned under his feet. Slowly, carefully, Moody entered behind him, wand at the ready, his whizzing eyeball taking in everything.

Dumbledore too glanced around with great interest as spiders scurried into the corners of the hut, his eyes taking in the dust of ages layered thickly on the spindly wooden table and the bowing shelves.

“Fascinating,” he said quietly.

“If by fascinating you mean a miserable wreck, then sure,” Moody grumbled. “Dunno what sorta useful evidence you expect to find here, Albus.”

“Ah, my old friend, anything which would give us insight into Voldemort’s past is useful,” said Dumbledore almost absentmindedly while reaching out with his finely attuned senses. 

Unlike less advanced wizards, Dumbledore could differentiate the subtle distinctions between magics without the use of a wand. There was something here—something he had hoped not to find but had expected to find. It had been unlikely that he would have detected its presence in the manor of the father whom Tom Riddle Junior had surely hated with a vengeance, but here—as wretched as the shack was—here was far more likely.

“How many of those  _damned_  things did Riddle make?” Dumbledore muttered under his breath.

“Alastor,” Dumbledore pointed towards a cracked plank in the floor near the corner of the room by a broken chair. “I do believe you will find something under that floorboard.”

“I see it,” muttered Moody, as his spinning eye halted on the plank.

Moody pried loose the cracked floorboard, finding a small leather pouch hidden beneath. He brought it out into the moonlight and kneeled next to the path. Everyone crouched down beside him as he opened the pouch and carefully shook it over a cobblestone.

A gold ring inset with an engraved black gemstone tumbled out and clattered onto the rocky slab, glittering in the wand-light of the three wizards.

“Morgana’s Sagging Tits!” sputtered Moody, his real eye bulging as he peered at the engraving on the stone, “Albus, you don’t suppose...?”

Dumbledore nodded, his own eyes widening. Mulligan looked bewildered.

“Peverell’s ring,” croaked the Headmaster. “Yes, Alastor, that engraving is indeed the Peverell insignia—the ‘coat of arms’ as some refer to it—one of the ‘Deathly Hallows’... This would appear to be the one belonging to Cadmus. If a Peverell married into the Gaunt bloodline, it is quite probable then that Lord Voldemort is a descendant of Cadmus Peverell. Which would mean that Harry Potter is very likely distantly related, as he is a descendant of Ignotus Peverell.”

“You don’t say,” said Moody, sounding surprised. “Poor kid—the last thing he needs is findin’ out he’s related to that monster.”

“It is of little consequence, truly,” said Dumbledore distantly as he stroked his long silvery beard. “The relationship is very distant, after all. One would have to go back many hundreds of years to meet their common ancestors.”

“True enough!” Moody agreed, still staring at the long-sought artifact.

Alastor’s voice seemed to fade as Dumbledore found himself being pulled towards the Ring. The yearning for peace in his soul—the Ring seemed to be calling out to him. Entranced—lost in his own little world—his hand reached out for the Ring almost of its own accord.

Moody sharply swatted Dumbledore’s hand away.

 _ **“Are you Bloody Mad?”**_   Moody snapped loudly, making Mulligan jump, “That thing is probably cursed, Albus.”

The headmaster’s eyes cleared; he was aghast at what he had almost unwittingly done.

“Yes... yes,” Dumbledore said shakily. “Of course it is! You’re quite right Alastor! Thank you!”

Dumbledore reached within his robes, knowing that he had found one of Voldemort’s horcruxes, and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from its scabbard.

“What the hell?” Moody peered at Dumbledore is if he thought the headmaster mad. “What’d you bring that for?”

“Just in case,” Dumbledore replied mysteriously.

“What? You think that sword’s gonna break the curse?” said Moody skeptically.

“Quite!” said Dumbledore vaguely.

He motioned for Moody and Mulligan to stand back and lofted the Sword of Gryffindor above his head. The glinting blade of the sword flashed in the moonlight as it swung down and struck the Ring.

The Ring shuddered violently; a shrieking cacophony rent the cold night air, whipping the wizards’ robes and the long weedy grasses surrounding them in a tempestuous gale.

Billowing dark smoke poured from the Ring and the gemstone cracked—black death venomously oozed onto the cobblestone. After a few moments passed, the screaming Ring stopped shaking and the whirling column of smoke dissipated. It was finished.

**~o0o~**

“GAAAAAH! Aaaaaargh!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he nearly fell out of his bed, his scar on fire, searing as if being branded with a hot poker. 

“Oh no! Oh no!” Hermione squealed in a panic, waking right up, “Is it happening again?”

“Gaaaah! No!” Harry gasped, holding his throbbing forehead. “Just pain—not sick this time—no vision—” he managed to say between gasps.

“Blimey! What’s goin’ on?” asked Dora, who was at Harry’s bedside in an instant when she heard the commotion.

“I’m not sure,” said Hermione, “He says it just hurts really badly, but there wasn’t any nightmare this time.” 

Harry’s breathing and groaning slowed.

“Bloody hell!” Harry swore, rubbing at his forehead as Hermione handed him a pain potion. “It hurt about as bad as it did earlier tonight. But it was more like—I dunno—I suppose the last time I felt that horrible without having a bloody nightmare was in second year when Tom Riddle came out of the Diary, and when I stabbed the Diary with a Basilisk fang…”


	29. A Nice Cup of Tea

"… _Again?_ Bloody hell, Harry?"

"Yeah—" Harry muttered, glowering, "Dunno why I've got to stay here all weekend though. I'm fine now!"

"You're _not_ fine, Harry!" said Hermione reproachfully. "That was an absolutely terrifying experience last night! … The nightmares you've been having since your summer vision are bad enough, but I can't imagine how awful they're going to be now—you're lucky I was there and that Dora—"

"Wait! … You really _have_ been staying with Harry at nights, then?" Ron's jaw dropped, and Hermione's face turned scarlet.

Harry groaned, his own face growing hotter, and heard Ron yelp, "Ow!" when Neville gave him a kick in the shin and Lavender swatted his shoulder.

At that moment Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, looking furious when she saw the little group gathered around Harry's bed.

"Out! Out!" she snapped, flapping her arms at the four Gryffindors. "You can visit after lunch—now off to breakfast with the lot of you!"

Ron and Neville fled the hospital wing leaving behind Lavender and Parvati who hesitated, both of whom looked very upset. Madam Pomfrey's features softened.

"Go on to breakfast you two," she said gently. "Mr. Potter will be just fine, I promise! Miss Granger and I have him well looked after."

Parvati and Lavender nodded, sighing.

"Bye guys," said Parvati, "I hope you feel better Harry."

Harry and Hermione heaved sighs of relief when everyone was gone, both of them feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Of course, it was obvious to Lavender and Parvati—they couldn't help but notice the nights when Hermione wasn't in their dorm. But they and the other girls were doing an excellent job of keeping mum about things so that the prefects didn't find out.

Ron and Neville on the other hand—well, mostly Ron—Harry just hoped that he didn't start blabbing to Seamus and Dean.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be paying no attention to Harry and Hermione's red faces.

"Right then, Mr. Potter," she said briskly, "how are you feeling?"

"Oh, er… fine I guess," said Harry uncertainly, knowing it was no use to ask Madam Pomfrey again if he could leave.

"Hmm… Well, I am certain that Miss Granger would like some breakfast. I'll send for a house-elf to bring something up, and I'll leave it up to you to decide if you're hungry. … And if Mr. Potter starts looking ill again, Miss Granger—"

"I know the spell to stop Harry throwing up," said Hermione, "I watched to see how Dora and you performed the spell."

A little smile crept to Madam Pomfrey's features.

"Of course you did. Very well, I'll leave you both to it."

Hermione began hungrily digging into breakfast when it appeared a few minutes later on a silver tray atop the hospital wing trolley which Madam Pomfrey had left next to Harry's bed. The tray was laden with just about everything which usually appeared on the tables in the Great Hall. Hermione glanced up at Harry after every few bites to see how he was getting on.

Harry tried a bit of porridge to start, then pushed it aside, a crinkle forming between his brows. Then he took a bite of crumpet and set the rest down on his plate. He peered at the fried eggs, his frown growing deeper. Then he picked up a piece of bacon, his favourite, which he usually wolfed down with almost as much abandon as Ron, and he began gnawing on the end of it.

Harry turned green and heaved. Hermione's wand was instantly in her hand.

"Finite Vomite!"

Harry slumped back on his pillow, his forehead still beaded with cold sweat, a silent tear trickling from the corner of one of his eyes. Hermione felt a sharp pain in her chest. She didn't think she had ever seen Harry looking so miserable.

"Thanks Hermione," he said after a moment passed. "It…it's horrid! I thought I was feeling better, but all I can see when I try to eat is… is…"

"It's alright Harry," she said gently, "You don't have to explain. The shock of it last night—and then trying to blot it all out of your mind—that's all fading now, which is probably why it's only just now starting to really sink in."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, nodding. "Dunno if I'll ever get over it—it was horrible…"

They both heard the door of the hospital wing open and footsteps, and they looked up to see who it was. Dora was just returning after freshening up in her quarters and grabbing a quick breakfast, and Dumbledore was right behind her.

**~o0o~**

Snape glowered at the Gryffindor table while he ate breakfast, peering at the gap where Potter and Granger usually sat with their little harem, right across from the dunderheaded ginger boy and his dimwitted friend, Longbottom. He absentmindedly scratched at the sleeve covering the burning scar on his forearm until he caught McGonagall eyeing him suspiciously.

Snape was startled; he hadn't even noticed her late arrival for breakfast. Then Snape spotted Moody eyeing him too, looking like a hungry lion ready to pounce on its prey at the slightest hint of movement. He immediately stopped scratching and his scowl grew even deeper.

If Snape hadn't been certain before, he was now. The Dark Lord had returned to Britain and restored himself somehow. Had the Potter brat and his slutty little M… _Mudblood_ —the word slipped out once more in his mind—the word he had vowed never to speak again had reared up for the second time in recent memory—something about Potter and Granger fornicating like bunnies with a harem of girls at their beck and call—it just wasn't right. Potter was wholly undeserving—why should _he_ have a Mudblood all of his own, and bevy of bimbos besides?

But had Potter and the Mudblood been right, at the end of third year? Was Pettigrew truly back from the dead? Had he been the one to restore the Dark Lord? Was Black truly innocent of the crime? Snape snorted at the idea of Black being innocent of anything, his lip curling—suddenly he wasn't so hungry, and his stomach churned.

Regardless, the fact that the Dark Lord was back was now inescapable; the brand on Snape's forearm told him that much, though if the Dark Lord had called, it would have turned black. Snape had been planning on telling Dumbledore, of course, but he hadn't seen him since dinner last night, and breakfast would soon be finished…

**~o0o~**

"…So he _was_ already gone then," Harry sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes," Dumbledore replied. "However, the excursion to Little Hangleton was not entirely unproductive."

Dumbledore opened his hand and sitting on his palm was a golden ring with a cracked obsidian-black gemstone glittering in the morning light pouring through the window. Harry peered at it, feeling mildly puzzled.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, giving voice to Harry's unspoken query. "I mean—obviously it's a ring. But what's its significance?"

"Ah—a very good question indeed, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, his bushy white eyebrows rising up his forehead. "As it so happens, this ring holds more import than one might imagine, but for our purposes today its significance lies in the fact that it belonged to Lord Voldemort…"

Dumbledore glanced at Dora. Catching his meaning, she locked the door of the hospital wing.

"Pomfrey's gone to breakfast, Professor, so we're all alone."

"Thank you, Miss Tonks." Dumbledore turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione. "Now, what use do you imagine Voldemort might have for such an artifact?"

Hermione gasped.

"A Horcrux!" Harry blurted out, his eyes widening as it hit him. "It's a Horcrux, isn't it?"

"It was a Horcrux," Dumbledore corrected him. "Now it is merely a ring—well, 'mere' isn't quite the right descriptor, but that is a story for another time. I took the Sword of Gryffindor with me last night, on the off-chance that I might discover a Horcrux at the scene. And, as you can see, I did, which confirms my hypothesis that Voldemort had created multiple horcruxes. … There may be more, but thankfully, there is now one less. This one I destroyed in the small hours of the morning."

"Hmm…" Hermione frowned. "I wonder…" she murmured.

"Wonder what?" asked Harry.

"Well, last night, when you woke up and your scar was hurting horribly, you said it felt like it did when you stabbed the diary with a Basilisk fang."

"Yeah, it did." Harry rubbed absentmindedly at his scar again. "Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Maybe," she said noncommittally before turning to Dumbledore. "Professor, what time was it last night when you used the sword on the ring?"

"Well now," said Dumbledore as he stroked his long silvery beard, looking immensely curious, "I would say it was nearing two thirty. Are you suggesting a link between Harry's sudden pain and my destruction of the Horcrux?"

"Yes!" said Hermione, almost looking excited. "It was two twenty-three when Harry woke up. There _must_ be a connection."

"Two twenty-three?" said Harry in amusement. "And how many seconds?"

Hermione glared at him and he shut up.

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. "Very fascinating indeed. Yes, that would seem to be a clear indication of a connection, Miss Granger—a fact that I should have considered myself, given that Harry too contains a piece of Voldemort's soul."

"Don't remind me," Harry grumbled. "It's horrible enough as it is being connected to Voldemort. I'd rather not be connected to all of his horrible Horcruxes too"

"Don't you see, Harry?" said Hermione eagerly. "This means that if there are any more Horcruxes, you might be able to detect them with your scar. Then we could hunt them all down, and once we've got rid of them, we can figure out a way to get that piece of soul out of you…"

"…and then Voldemort would be killable," said Harry, brightening up. "That would be brilliant! But first we need to know how many there are and at least have an idea of where they might be."

"Quite so, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking rather impressed. "Quite so! For the moment though, your recovery, and seeing you safely through the rest of the Triwizard tournament is paramount. Leave the rest to me for the time being. … In the meantime, I would prefer it if you had some company at night, should you be taken ill again. If Miss Granger doesn't mind, perhaps it would be best if she stayed with you."

"Wait! What?" Harry's jaw dropped.

"Or, if you wish, perhaps you would rather have Mr. Weasley or Mr. Longbottom stay with you," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"No," said Harry quickly. "I'd rather have Hermione…" Harry's face grew hotter when he realized what he had just said. "Er… I mean, I'd prefer it if Hermione stayed with me, sir," then he glanced at Hermione worriedly. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, if you do, that's alright—I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I suppose I could ask Ron—"

"Don't be silly, Harry," said Hermione, cutting off his anxious babbling as her own cheeks turned scarlet; Dora tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, "of course I don't mind!"

"Well then," Dumbledore beamed as he rose to his feet from his chair, "I do believe we are finished for now. I had best be off before Madam Pomfrey returns from breakfast to turf me out."

Dumbledore stood up to leave, then hesitated and turned back.

"There is one last thing—I know it is a bit too late to keep the cat in the bag entirely, as your dorm-mates and friends already know of your nightmares and potential connection to Voldemort, Harry, and that information may eventually spread…"

"They won't tell anyone, Professor," said Harry earnestly, "They would never—"

"Perhaps not, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a knowing, wistful smile, "Regardless, all I was going to say is that we should try to keep this information in as small a circle as possible for as long as possible."

**~o0o~**

Upon his departure from the hospital wing, Dumbledore's weariness returned in full force, having barely had more than three hours sleep. As he neared the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the stairwell leading to his office, he spotted Professor Snape approaching from the direction of the Great Hall. Dumbledore had been expecting to see Severus this morning, considering last night's events, and was glad that he had spoken to Minerva first in her office.

"Ah, good morning Severus," he said cheerily, his weary demeanor vanishing.

"If you insist," said Snape. "You have been difficult to track down this morning."

"The busy life of a headmaster," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he and Snape took their places on the bottom step of the staircase leading to his office, "it never ends."

"Quite!" said Snape dryly.

Once inside his office Fawkes let out a little trill of greeting and Dumbledore sat behind his desk, directing Snape to take a seat in one of the well stuffed chintz armchairs. Snape sat down stiffly, looking very out of place.

"Would you like some tea?" Dumbledore asked politely, conjuring up a tray with a blue-willow teapot and two teacups. Snape peered down his nose at the tea-tray disdainfully.

"This is a matter of some… _urgency_ ," he said, a hint of a sneer in his tone.

"Of that, there can be no doubt," said Dumbledore, pouring himself some tea and squeezing in a slice of lemon. "However, it is not so urgent, surely, that we cannot take a moment to appreciate the finer things in life," he added, stirring in a spoonful of honey.

"You think not?" Snape lifted one eyebrow.

"Unless you are here to tell me that Lord Voldemort has already sent for you, then I think we can spare a few more minutes for the niceties. However, I believe you are here to tell me that he has restored himself, but that he has not, as yet, called his Death Eaters to his side."

This time both of Snape's eyebrows shot up as he clutched his forearm.

"And you know this… how, exactly?"

"At this time, I think it wisest to keep that information to myself, lest it get into Voldemort's hands—I will only say what everyone will know within a few days. The body of a young boy was found last night—a victim of the Dark Lord—and that there is conclusive evidence that Voldemort has indeed returned and restored himself—with the aid of a certain Peter Pettigrew."

Snape's eyes widened and his sallow skin grew even paler.

"Then…then it's true…"

"Yes!" said Dumbledore coldly. "That which you refused to believe at the end of last term is true. Sirius Black is an innocent man, and Pettigrew is still alive, and Harry Potter and Miss Granger were being truthful."

"That hardly makes Black innocent," Snape hissed angrily through gritted teeth.

"That makes Black innocent of the crime for which he was incarcerated," Dumbledore retorted. "And we have already discussed the fact that you have no moral leg to stand on when it comes to your time at Hogwarts together."

Snape fell silent.

"Good!" said Dumbledore. "Now that we have cleared the air, let us move on. Alastor and I approached Igor last night—or very early this morning, if you will—and discovered him in a quandary as to whether to stay or flee. … We convinced him to remain, with the promise of protection. Now all that remains is to determine whether or not you are prepared… if you are ready to take up your task when Voldemort calls, as he is very likely to do within the next twenty-four hours."

Snape hesitated, his black eyes glittering.

"I am!" he said when the moment passed.

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, his demeanor softening. "Do not think that I don't appreciate the danger you will be walking into. Please be careful."

"Always!" Snape took Dumbledore's words of finality as a dismissal and rose to his feet, departing the headmaster's office in a swirl of robes.

Dumbledore sipped his still steaming cup of tea as he watched his Potions Master leaving, pondering his decision. Minerva seemed to agree that Severus might as well perform the task that he had _actually_ been hired for, but she had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she did not trust Snape. And Alastor too had badgered him again about Snape's unworthiness. Dumbledore knew, of course, that which they did not—the reason that Severus Snape had switched sides.

But even knowing what he did, Dumbledore could not deny that Severus's ever-hardening attitude towards Harry was disturbing. There was no question of Snape actively rejoining Voldemort, of course; such an action would be unfathomable. But given his "unwitting" outing of Remus Lupin at the end of the previous year, it was clear that Severus was not beyond allowing his petty vindictiveness to get the better of him in disregarding the headmaster's wishes.

There was a distinct possibility that Severus might decide that seeking some redemption for Lily Potter's murder was not enough to make it worth his while to help bring down the Dark Lord and protect a boy he hated beyond all reason. The less that Severus knew to "let slip" should he choose to abandon his mission, the better.

**~o0o~**

Many hours later, shortly before dinner, Dumbledore received another visit he had been expecting, this one from a furious Professor McGonagall. She burst into his office, her features livid, and Fawkes let out a startled squawk when the door banged open.

"What is the meaning of this, Albus?" she demanded, bristling with outrage.

"Ah, yes…" Dumbledore sighed. "I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon. Some tea?" he asked politely, conjuring up a tea-tray again, this one adorned with a Belleek tea-set.

"I don't have time for this nonsense," McGonagall snapped, eyeing the tea tray with nearly the same look of disdain that Snape had given it that morning. "It has just reached my attention through the grapevine that Miss Granger is moving some of her belongings into Mr. Potter's quarters at this very moment."

"And the problem is…?" Dumbledore asked serenely, taking a sip from the delicate, shell-like teacup.

" _What_?" McGonagall sputtered angrily. "You know very well what the problem is—a teenage boy and a teenage girl—cohabiting in the same living space with no adult supervision. They could be getting up to all sorts of… _hanky panky_!"

"No more 'hanky panky' surely than they might be getting up to unsupervised in empty classrooms and broom cupboards, surely," said Dumbledore, amused now.

"Well, yes—but that's not the same thing as spending all their time together in the same living quarters where they can get up to things at any time they please.

"And what of all the teenage boys residing together in the boys' dormitories?" said Dumbledore pointedly.

"Well, they're all boys—" McGonagall halted in midstream when it became apparent where Dumbledore was going with this, and she switched to a different tack. "Now—that's preposterous, Albus. You can't seriously be suggesting that the boys might be engaging in sordid liaisons after lights out in the vicinity of their dorm-mates."

"Can't I?" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling now.

"Er…" Professor McGonagall was caught off guard. "I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," said Dumbledore gently. "I know you better than that. I am simply pointing out what we both know to be true, that sometimes, boys and girls alike may indeed be getting up to some— _hanky panky_ as you so delightfully put it—in their own dormitories under cover of night—in four-poster beds with curtains—and instructions for silencing charms readily available in the school library for those with the foresight to seek extra privacy."

"Yes, but—" McGonagall faltered, her best arguments vanishing faster than bats fleeing from the morning light. "—what about the potential for unwanted pregnancy?" she proffered after casting about for another objection.

"This is Miss Granger we are talking about, correct?" Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted and he gave his deputy headmistress a penetrating look.

"Point taken," Professor McGonagall sighed, then it struck her—her final, best argument. "But what about the Grangers? Surely they would not approve!"

McGonagall gave Dumbledore a smug look when he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his crinkled forehead.

"I admit," he began, "that question did give me some pause. But, in the end, I decided to leave that up to Miss Granger as to whether or not to inform her parents. She made the choice freely, without coercion, and Harry was offered the option of having Mr. Longbottom or Mr. Weasley keep him company instead. Harry was quite amenable to Miss Granger staying with him—"

"Of course he was," Professor McGonagall said dryly.

"Well, it was at your prodding that they entered into this relationship, was it not? Surely you could foresee the inevitable outcome?"

McGonagall groaned.

"My dear Minerva, please, do not be so distraught. You and I are both only looking out for the best interests of Harry and Miss Granger. Harry will need all of the loving support he can get to face the trials ahead of him, and have we not already agreed that their blossoming relationship may eventually be the key to ridding Harry of that infernal piece of Voldemort's soul which is now attached to his own?"

Professor McGonagall sighed again, this time looking positively tearful.

"Indeed, Albus! Indeed!" she sniffled, retrieving a lace hanky from one of her pockets and dabbing her eyes. "You are quite right. This is probably all for the best. That poor boy—I don't know what I was thinking—"

"There, there, Minerva," said Dumbledore kindly, "you were only thinking of your students' best interests after all. Now come, sit, join me in a cup of tea, won't you?"

**~o0o~**

The Senior Undersecretary hung her hot-pink cloak on the gleaming, golden coat-rack to the side of the front door as she stepped onto marble floor of the foyer. She beamed at the gracious hostess who beckoned her forth into the parlour.

"Thank you, Narcissa, for your kindness."

"Not at all, Dolores," said Narcissa warmly. "It has been some time since you last visited us, after all. It seemed to Lucius and me that discussing our way forward under the current circumstances might as well be done over dinner…"


	30. The Informant

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his head in time with the throbbing rhythms of the earsplitting dance music. He chuckled when Dawlish massaged his temples, ordered up another fizzy water from the bartender, and tipped a vial of pain potion into it. Then Dawlish chugged it down in one swallow and let out a belch.

“You alright there, John?” Shacklebolt shouted to be heard over the music. 

“No!” Dawlish snapped back. “I’m sick of staking out this bloody nightclub watching Gorhammer’s flunkies conduct ‘business’.”

“Gorhammer’s got to show up some time. Supposedly he drops in once a month to make sure operations are running smoothly.”

Dawlish snorted, and the two Aurors fell silent again, peering through the dancing throng of posh looking Goblins and wizards, all dressed to the nines. They kept watch while the “flunkies” took gold and wrote down names in ledgers and every so often handing gold out to winners or surreptitiously passing envelopes—ostensibly containing drugs—to their clients.

Shacklebolt spotted a heavyset Goblin in a tuxedo strolling around the edge of the dancefloor and surrounded by an entourage of giggling female Goblins in sparkling evening gowns. He nudged Dawlish when he saw the Goblin making a beeline for the table of unlicensed bookies and drugs-dealers.

“That could be him right there.”

“About bloody time!” 

“Right then,” said Shacklebolt, rising from his barstool, “Try and keep your cool. We don’t want that lot doing a bunk.” 

Dawlish clambered to his feet, grumbling about “looking like a penguin” as he tugged the tight collar and bow tie, and adjusted the cummerbund of his tuxedo.

The pair of Aurors casually sidled around the edge of the crowd and approached the table. Several of the Goblins narrowed their eyes, hands hovering near their waistcoats, no doubt ready to pull guns if necessary. 

“And what can we do for you gentlemen tonight?” asked one of the Goblin money-takers, “A wager on next week’s quidditch match? …or something to make your evening a bit more enjoyable?”

“I was hoping for a meeting with Mr. Gorhammer,” said Shacklebolt smoothly. 

“Mr. Gorhammer is a very busy man,” growled the Goblin. “What’s this all about?”

“Ludo Bagman.”

The Goblin glanced worriedly at his boss who gave him a slight nod in return.

“Very well, Mr. Gorhammer will see you now—wait for him in the private booth over there and he’ll be with you shortly.”

Dawlish and Shacklebolt made their way to the entrance of the booth, which was hidden behind a purple and gold velvet curtain. They both took seats on one side of a highly polished mahogany table and Dawlish tugged at his collar again. The sound of the music was muffled by the curtain, except for the thunderous boom of the pulsing beats.

Moments later the heavyset Goblin pushed the curtain aside and let it fall again before sitting on the other side of the table.

“So, you want to know about Ludo Bagman,” said the Goblin boss warily, “Discussing other clients is generally bad for business. Why should I make an exception for you?” 

“Because the D.M.L.E. is conducting an investigation into Ludo Bagman and his possible ties to one of the syndicates,” Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows, “and we would hate to bring the National Inquiry Unit into this.”

Morag Gorhammer narrowed his eyes and studied Shacklebolt and Dawlish for a moment.

“Very well,” he said cagily, “What is it you want to know?”

“We already know that Bagman conducted business with you at the World Cup, and that some of your associates met with him in Hogsmeade a few months ago,” said Shacklebolt. “That alone is grounds for an arrest and a heavy fine—but we believe that he is also involved in fixing the Triwizard Tournament and the attempted murder of Harry Potter. We have proof that Goblins were involved in the assassination attempt, and we suspect they belonged to one of the larger syndicates—very likely the Kruella Syndicate or the Magmatok Gang—possibly even the Ragnagorok Clan.”

Shacklebolt noticed the twitch in the jaw of the Goblin boss when he mentioned the Kruella Syndicate. He could almost see the gears spinning in Morag Gorhammer’s mind…

**~o0o~**

The Dark Lord strode through the grounds of a manor belonging to muggles who were now dead—a grand, sprawling estate surrounding an 18th century manor house—with Wormtail by his side. A home currently occupied by wizards would have been ideal, but at least it wasn’t the decaying ruin of his muggle father’s estate; and it had once been in the hands of a wizard family line which had died out a hundred years ago—which counted for something, he supposed.

The beauty of the gardens and lawns, the hedgerows and statuary, and the swan laden ponds abutted by evergreens and weeping willows, held little interest to him, but the opulence of the estate would no doubt impress any Death Eaters who returned to his side. Pink clouds drew across a purple sky and the cry of a peacock echoed across the grounds. 

“Dusk approaches, Wormtail,” he said in a high, cold voice. “It is time—now we shall see who is brave enough to heed my call... and we shall see who is fool enough to ignore me…”

“Yes, Master,” Wormtail replied, pulling a sleeve of his robes up past his elbow and holding out his left arm; he grit his teeth, preparing himself for the pain. The Dark Lord pressed a long pale forefinger to the red, inflamed brand on his forearm and he groaned as the searing heat coursed through his veins. Wormtail’s Dark Mark turned black and another peacock cry seemed to echo his own need to let out a scream. Only the promise of a glorious future stayed his tongue.

“And now we wait!” the Dark Lord hissed, his red eyes gleaming in the darkening twilight. 

Wormtail kept silent while his master paced, praying that the Death Eaters would soon appear lest his master take out his anger on him. He breathed a sigh of relief when the first pops and cracks of apparating wizards rang out.

The Dark Lord looked on as the hooded and masked Death Eaters took their places, warily encircling their master as if surprised and afraid. Good! Their fear was warranted, the Dark Lord mused. He narrowed his eyes when no one said a word, and finally one of the Death Eaters spoke, falling to his knees and prostrating himself.

“Master, you have returned…”

“Did you doubt that I would?” the Dark Lord hissed. “You did, didn’t you?” Then he looked up and eyed each one in turn, noting the gaps in the ranks of his Death Eaters with displeasure.

“Some among you thought me broken and defeated,” he said quietly, icily, “or you believed that I was dead and gone. You believed that a mere infant could vanquish me—the Dark Lord? … How you could believe that I—Lord Voldemort—the Master of Death—would not return, knowing that I had taken measures to guard against mortality, escapes me.

“You disappoint me. …”

Cries of, “Master, please…” and, “Forgive us, my Lord!” carried through the crisp evening air as more Death Eaters fell to their knees. One even groveled at his feet, kissing the hem of his robes. Only one had the fortitude to remain on his feet.

The Dark Lord regarded them with indifference, then spoke up once more.

“Alone among you, only Wormtail had the foresight and conviction to know that I would one day rise from the ashes—only _he_ , the one whom I had mistakenly believed to be the least of my Death Eaters, had the courage and loyalty to seek me out and aid in my resurrection.

“Yes—he bided his time for twelve years, but it is clear now, that he was waiting for the hands of fate to move him when the time was right. Wormtail risked my wrath and came to me in the wilderness—bearing a gift, a human sacrifice, a woman to carry his seed long enough to at least give me a form to inhabit, weak as it was—and in her death she gave me life, as my own mother did, oh so many years ago. … And it was he who restored me to my true form—the form which stands before you now—with yet another human sacrifice. 

“Alone among you—of those who did not sacrifice themselves to Azkaban for me—it was Wormtail who held onto his faith—and for that he shall be rewarded…”

The Dark Lord dangerously eyed the one who was still standing.

“And here is another with courage,” he said softly. “Why—I wonder—does he have the mettle to not throw himself at my feet, begging my forgiveness, as the rest of you wretches are so doing?”

“My lord,” the standing Death Eater replied, “I too, was waiting for the right moment. In these last thirteen years I have been watching those who would move against you upon your inevitable return. I ventured into our enemy’s encampment and convinced him that I had turned against you, and I eventually earned enough trust to become a valued asset in his inner-circle. I knew he had hidden the boy, and that the boy would eventually arrive at Hogwarts. 

“The information I have gathered on Dumbledore and Potter since, will no doubt prove invaluable, but even more importantly, my current position will allow you access to their movements and most closely guarded secrets—”

“I see,” hissed the Dark Lord, “What then of Quirrell, Severus? Why did you not aid him in his quest to restore me?”

“I was mistaken, my Lord,” said Snape. “I did not know. I believed him to be seeking the Philosopher’s Stone for his own aggrandizement. Forgive me.”

“Ah, I see, Severus. Of course! Indeed, I took much caution to avoid raising Dumbledore’s suspicions until I could no longer hide my presence. If I had only known—you could have brought the boy to me in Crouch Junior’s stead. Very well, you will return to Hogwarts to keep your eye on Dumbledore and Potter. … Do not move against them until I give the command.”

“Of course, my Lord!” Snape gave a curt, little bow and was gone in a swirl of robes and a popping sound.

“Now, as to the rest of you,” said the Dark Lord, speaking to his prostrate followers, “get up and remove your masks, that I may see who has refused to return to my service.”

They all clambered back to their feet, relieved that the Dark Lord had not tortured them—and concerned that he still might. The Dark Lord moved among them as they took off their masks one by one.

“MacNair—Good,” the Dark Lord said, nodding, “you shall soon have better victims than that which the Ministry could provide. … Nott, Goyle, Crabbe—” He looked them over appraisingly. “You have children at Hogwarts, do you not?”

“Yes Master,” said Crabbe, bowing his head; the other two nodded.

“You will do better henceforth, lest I see fit to replace you with your sons.”

The three Death Eaters all gulped and gave each other fearful looks as the Dark Lord continued down the line.

“Avery—Mulciber—” He halted when he came to a man and a woman, and he smiled thinly, as if amused. “Ah, Alecto, Amycus, still posing as husband and wife, are we?”

The siblings flushed and several other Death Eaters allowed themselves a chuckle or a snort of derision. The Dark Lord carried on, and when he had finished inspecting the ranks the curtain of night had fallen, stars twinkling in the blackness; his eyes glowed red in the light of the silvery moon.

“Well, this is most disappointing,” he said, a strong hint of anger in his voice. “Karkaroff—I knew he would be too cowardly to return, but I had not expected that Lucius and Corban would defy me. … They shall pay dearly for ignoring my call, and when they do, let their punishment be a reminder to all who would betray me. In the meantime, see what rewards loyalty can bring you—Wormtail here shall be my second in command…”

**~o0o~**

When Harry came to, Madam Pomfrey, Hermione, Dora, and Fleur were all hovering above him looking very concerned, and his forehead was cold and clammy except for his still throbbing, burning scar.

“It happened again, didn’t it?” said Hermione. “Another vision.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded and winced. He really _had_ to stop doing that after a vision. 

“Well, at least you aren’t throwing up this time,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“That’s because he wasn’t eating any hearts or drinking blood this time,” Harry muttered darkly.

Madam Pomfrey frowned, noticing that for the second night running he had barely touched his dinner which had been sent up to the hospital wing.

“Regardless,” she began gently, “you will have to eat something again sometime, Mr. Potter, and I cannot simply keep you in the hospital wing until you do.”

Madam Pomfrey handed him two vials.

“A calming draught—the strongest one available—and an appetite stimulant…”

Harry drained the two vials without question.

“Very good, Mr. Potter. … Miss Granger, I will be giving you a week’s worth of both—” 

“I’ll make sure he takes them,” said Hermione earnestly.

“I know you will, dear. … Okay, Mr. Potter, now why don’t you try eating your dinner. Those potions should be working already.”

They were. Harry was already beginning to feel hungry, and a haze in his frontal lobes began to blot out the horrifying images and sensations which had plagued him since Saturday morning. But there was still a sense of urgency.

“Dumbledore—I need to talk to Dumbledore.”

“I expect so, Mr. Potter. But I would like to see you eat first.”

Harry sighed and nodded, wincing again. He picked up a fork and knife and began to eat his shepherd’s pie, wishing that everyone would quit staring at him. He soon got his wish when Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied that he was actually going to finish his dinner and departed. Dora and Fleur had already returned to their own, leaving only Hermione to watch him.

When he was done, Hermione passed him some of the chocolate frogs that Luna and Ginny had brought for him earlier that afternoon. As he ate them, Harry felt better than he had thought he could feel after only two days. 

“I really need to talk to Dumbledore,” Harry said quietly after eating four chocolate frogs.

“He’ll be here soon, Harry,” said Hermione, smiling at him sadly.

True to Hermione’s word, Dumbledore appeared five minutes later, a somber expression on his face. He sat down next to Harry’s hospital bed and peered at him intently with his piercing blue eyes.

“Voldemort—he has called his followers to his side.” It was a statement, not a question, and Harry couldn’t help feeling a surge of anger.

“Yeah! And Snape was there,” he growled.

“ _Professor_ Snape,” Dumbledore gently admonished him.

“More like _Spy_ Snape!” Harry retorted. “The only reason he hasn’t done me in yet is because he knows Voldemort wants me for himself…”

“You are correct in one regard, Harry. Professor Snape returned to Lord Voldemort’s side—but only at my request. He is to spy on Voldemort for _us_ —”

“But how can you trust him?” Harry argued. “How d’you really know he is on our side?”

Harry felt a bit disconcerted when he saw hesitation Dumbledore’s eyes. He desperately wanted Dumbledore to prove him wrong or prove him right, one way or the other. 

“I trust this much,” Dumbledore began, so softly it was almost a whisper, “I trust that Professor Snape will not willingly act against me or you on behalf of Voldemort. As to why, I am afraid that is the one thing which I cannot reveal to you—now, do you have any more information to impart?”

Harry grit his teeth in frustration. If it weren’t for the calming draught, he thought he might explode. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes until the feeling passed, then began to tell Dumbledore everything he knew.

“…but I don’t have a clue where the manor is,” Harry concluded ruefully.

“No matter,” Dumbledore sighed. “Now that Voldemort is fully restored and has most of his inner-circle back, the advantage of knowing his location is minimal at best. More importantly, do you believe that he is still unaware of your presence in his mind?”

“Yeah—actually,” said Harry, surprised at himself. “Yeah! The Occlumency really seems to be working—he didn’t seem to notice me at all. … I’m not so sure about the Legilimency though—I still can’t really see a whole load in his mind—just a few bits and pieces—that’s why I couldn’t figure out where he was this time—he was just so sick of his father’s house before… Mostly I just get his feelings and see and hear whatever he sees and hears.”

“Which is more than enough,” said Dumbledore, beaming proudly at him. “You have done splendidly indeed, Harry! … If you wish, you may take some time off from classes—The horror you have endured this weekend is far beyond what most can imagine—”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “I just want to focus on schoolwork and try to forget about it.” 

Hermione frowned, looking like she might object, but she kept quiet. Dumbledore peered at Harry for a moment, then sighed and nodded.

“Very well, Harry. But if you find yourself experiencing any distress, do not hesitate to inform Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey. No one will think any less of you if you need some time off.”

“I’ll be okay—really!” said Harry firmly.

Once Dumbledore had said good night and departed the hospital wing, Hermione climbed onto Harry’s bed and lay down beside him, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting her bushy head on his shoulder. They lay like that for a while in silence. Between the extra-strength calming draught, a full stomach, and Hermione’s embrace, Harry felt much better.

Eventually Hermione spoke up 

“I wonder what he meant,” she murmured, “when he said that Professor Snape wouldn’t willingly act against you and him on behalf of Voldemort. Dumbledore was very careful how he worded that.” 

“Huh!” said Harry, feeling a bit puzzled. “Dunno really. I thought he just meant Snape was on our side.”

“He hesitated just before he said it,” said Hermione, “and he sounded like he didn’t trust Snape completely.”

“Yeah, I guess I did notice the hesitation, come to think about it—that did seem weird. He sounded pretty certain to me when he said it though.”

“It just made me think,” Hermione mused aloud, “It reminded me how Snape ‘just let it slip’that Professor Lupin was a werewolf last year. That was obviously acting against Dumbledore’s wishes.”

“So, are you saying that Snape might sort of let something slip to Voldemort then, even if he’s still working for Dumbledore?”

“Maybe—I suppose. That’s just what Dumbledore’s wording seemed to imply. We’ll just have to be very careful around him—just in case.”

“Well, we can both do Occlumency reasonably well now,” said Harry, “so even if Snape’s a Legilimens, he’d have to use a wand on us to get anything useful out of us. But I was just thinking—what if there’s another way to interpret what Dumbledore was saying? What if he meant that Snape might act against him and me on his _own_ behalf? … I don’t necessarily mean _directly_ against us—but maybe if Snape is sick of working as a spy, he’d just ditch Dumbledore too—not work for either side. Snape obviously hates me—he might not want to do anything which helps me.”

“Hmm…” Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “Well, neither idea is mutually exclusive. Snape could just opt out altogether I suppose—assuming he could avoid being killed by Voldemort— _and_ let something slip too. … Or, maybe I was just overthinking everything to begin with, and we should just take what Dumbledore said at face value.” 

“But you don’t really believe that, do you? I’ve never known you to _over_ -think anything, Hermione—if you think something _could_ be true, it usually means that it probably _is_ true.”

Hermione turned a bit pink and beamed at Harry. The next thing Harry knew, he was on the receiving end of a heated kiss.


	31. The Nobleman

Grimnut paced back and forth; he was almost as anxious as he had been after the Second Task—maybe even more anxious. This was potentially worse. If Boss Gorhammer was correct, the entire Kruella Syndicate was potentially at risk. Grimnut tried to reassure himself that this time, he had played no role in the events. Chief Bloodaxe could hardly hold him accountable for the Auror Office’s investigation of Ludo Bagman, right?

While he waited for the Chief to read the memo, Grimnut decided he needed something to take the edge off. He picked up the little spun-silver bell sitting on the oak sideboard and shook it. 

“Goblin Ale and two drams of Firewhisky,” he called out, “No—make that three drams.”

Moments later, a tall tankard of ale and three silver shot glasses magically appeared on the surface of the sideboard. He downed the contents of the shot glasses first, then chugged down the ale. Feeling much better, Grimnut was just wiping the frothy moustache from his upper lip with the back of his hand when Chief Bloodaxe arrived with Accountant Gutripper and several bodyguards.

“Nice and relaxed, then, are we?” Chief Bloodaxe eyed the shot glasses and the tankard; Grimnut gulped. “Good! Because we’ve got some planning to do!”

Grimnut let out a sigh of relief. 

“So, let’s review the situation,” the Chief growled as he took a chair on the other side of the table, “Bagman’s square with us, but now we’ve got the Aurors breathing down our necks. Bagman’s also in the tank for the Senior Undersecretary. And now Voldemort is back in the game. Does that about size things up?”

“Yes Chief,” said Grimnut quickly, nodding. “And I _already_ have an outline for a crisis-response plan. I was thinking that we should continue to make arrangements with Bagman for the Third Task to sink Harry Potter. Bagman is sure to be adding more dangers to the Task at the behest of the Senior Undersecretary. 

“But _this_ time, instead of putting our own team in, we should use a third party to hire a team from the Burning Crow Gang in Bagman’s name. Then we can send in an anonymous tip to the Auror office—leaving Burning Crow and Bagman, er… holding the bag, so to speak.”

Chief Bloodaxe pursed his lips, his brow furrowing, and stroked his jowly cheeks with one hand. He pondered for a moment, then he slowly nodded.

“I like it,” said the Chief. “So, Bagman goes down, and we take out Burning Crow at the same time. … Good! They’ve been cutting into our bottom line recently—better to take them out before they get too big. Magmatok and Ragnagorok will be just as happy to cut ‘em off at the knees, so we won’t catch any grief from them.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Grimnut, thrilled that the Chief seemed happy with the plan. “I was also thinking…” Then he paused, wondering if he should continue to push his luck.

“Go on!” The Chief’s wispy eyebrows rose up his forehead. 

“…I was thinking we should only take even money bets from clients betting for Potter to win—then, say, give them three to one for Potter drawing for first or taking second place—then ten to one if he takes third, and fifteen to one for last…

“And we should put ½ of our own discretionary funds on Potter at seven to one to win—those are the current odds against that licensed bookmakers and Magmatok’s and Ragnagorok’s bookies are listing for Potter to win outright—they’re giving even odds if he draws for first place or takes second, so we’ll be scooping up most of those bettors—and we hold the other ½ of our discretionary funds in reserve—just in case.”

“Hmm…” The Chief went back to pawing at his cheeks; Accountant Gutripper adjusted his glasses, narrowed his eyes and began twirling his pointy goatee.

Grimnut swallowed nervously while the Chief and the Accountant took their time thinking about things.

Then the Chief finally asked, “You really think Potter’s going to take the Third Task?” looking slightly skeptical.

“I do,” said Grimnut. “Potter tied with Krum for first in the First Task. The only reason he tied with Delacour for second place in the Second Task was because our Kill Team held him up—he made short work of the creatures, even Bagman’s Sea-Serpent—and he took out our Kill Team like a professional.

“Burning Crow’s teams are good enough at kneecapping your average wizard, but they don’t stand a chance against Potter—he’ll go through them like a hot knife through boar’s-fat. And I think he can take anything that Bagman will throw against him—Potter’s got a real pro coaching him—a Master in wizard and non-magical combat skills and tactics. He should outmatch Krum easily three months from now. 

“Anyone betting that Potter will win outright won’t even bother betting with us when Magmatok and Ragnagorok are giving seven to one, and _most_ will be betting on Potter to take second or to draw for first, and only lunatics going for a real longshot will be betting that he takes third or fourth, so…”

“So, at worst we should still come out ahead,” said Accountant Gutripper gleefully, his eyes lighting up like Christmas trees, “and at best we should make out like Gringotts…”

**~o0o~**

“How do I look?”

“Like a new man!” said Lupin as he adjusted Sirius’s Windsor knot. 

Kreacher began setting plates full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and crumpets in front of Sirius and Lupin, and poured them both cups of tea.

“Master looks most Noble,” Kreacher croaked ingratiatingly as he absentmindedly fingered the gold locket dangling from his neck.

Sirius shook his head, smiling wryly at his house-elf’s choice of words. 

“Thank you, Kreacher. Now, I’ll be gone most of the day—be nice to Remus, okay?”

“Of course, Master Sirius.” Kreacher gave Lupin a little bow. “Kreacher will obey Master’s friend as if his orders were your own.” 

“That’s not really necessary, Kreacher,” said Lupin, flushing slightly. 

“Mister Lupin is convincing Master Sirius to let Kreacher keep Master Regulus’s lockets and Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures. Mister Lupin’s kindness to Kreacher must be rewarded,” Kreacher insisted.

“Quite right,” Sirius beamed at Lupin. “That was an excellent suggestion on his part—I’m just sorry it took you so much work to convince me, Remus. It was certainly worth it.”

“Yes, well, you and Kreacher both deserved a bit of peace and happiness in your lives.”

When breakfast was finished Sirius washed it all down with his tea and Lupin followed him to the foyer to see him off to the Ministry.

“Now remember, it’s very likely that Lucius Malfoy will be at the Ministry to oversee your exoneration and your installment as Head of House Black in the Wizengamot, so keep your emotions in check and don’t give anyone a reason to send you back to Azkaban,” Remus admonished him. 

“Yes Remus!” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got it—don’t tip Lucius off to the fact that I want to murder him!”

**~o0o~**

Draco scowled at his owl as it flew back to the owlery, and he wiped scrambled eggs off his copy of the _Daily Prophet_. If he didn’t know better, it was almost as if Abaddon was dropping his mail on his breakfast on purpose.

Then Draco saw the headline on the front page of the newspaper and gasped.

**YOU-KNOW-WHO BACK FROM THE DEAD!**

And further down the page was another, smaller headline.

**Peter Pettigrew alive, Sirius Black innocent**

Draco wasn’t really sure what to make of the second headline, but the first one made him feel almost giddy with glee and he very nearly let out a whoop of delight. He glanced across the Hall at Potter and his pet Mudblood blithely eating breakfast with the rest of their Harem.

“Hah!” he said aloud to himself, grinning from ear to ear. 

Then Draco rose to his feet. “Crabbe, Goyle, I think we should pay Potter a visit.”

“Wh’for?” Crabbe mumbled, his cheeks bulging and scrambled eggs and bacon spilling from his mouth.

“Because I said so,” Draco snapped. 

Crabbe stood up, looking a bit disgruntled, and Goyle hastily shoved a whole piece of toast and several sausages into his mouth. They obediently followed Draco across the Hall.

**~o0o~**

“Oh look,” said Luna matter-of-factly with a sausage dangling on the end of her fork. “Draco Malfoy looks really happy for a change.”

Ginny looked up and snorted. “Happier than he’s been since before Christmas, anyway.”

Ron glanced over his shoulder, his cheeks stuffed with bacon and eggs, and everyone else peered at the smug, swaggering Slytherin approaching the Gryffindor table with his two thuggish lackeys trailing behind him.

Hermione frowned, hoping he wasn’t going to ruin Harry’s appetite and concerned that Harry might be goaded into revealing too much. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Don’t forget, you can’t let him know what you know.”

Harry sighed and nodded. He would have loved to wipe that smile off Malfoy’s face by informing him that his father had “disappointed” Voldemort. But he hadn’t even told anyone else about last night’s vision yet. The only people who knew, besides himself and Hermione, were Dora and Fleur, and he reckoned that it was probably safer all the way around to keep what he knew between them for the time being. 

“Seen the morning paper yet, Potter?” Malfoy drawled as he flung the _Daily Prophet_ on the table. “I told you you’d picked the wrong side—remember? When we met on the train, on the way to Hogwarts? I warned you not to hang out with these losers!” He gave Hermione and Ron a nasty smirk. “Too late now, Potter! Now the Dark Lord is back, your peasant pal and your pet Mudblood will be the first to go!”

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled sycophantically and cracked their knuckles. Ron nearly leapt to his feet to punch Malfoy, but Neville kept a tight grip on his arm. Everyone at the table glared viciously at Draco, and some even had their wands out.

Harry looked at Malfoy for a moment, then smiled blandly at him, much to the bewilderment of many Gryffindors.

“Well, Malfoy—seems to me that _your_ lot are the ones who should be worried,” said Harry quietly. “What d’you reckon is going to happen to anyone who sides with Voldemort when he gets killed again? … I expect the Dementors’ll be happy to have a few more Death Eaters like your daddy to babysit in Azkaban—assuming he survives, of course.” 

A number of Gryffindors winced at hearing Voldemort’s name, but there were a few guffaws and sniggers as well—Fred and George were chortling with laughter. Malfoy flinched and what little colour there was in his pallid features drained away before his cheeks turned a shade of red that Uncle Vernon would be proud of. 

“We’ll see who survives, Potter!” he snarled. “You’ll want to keep your eye on that one,” Malfoy jerked his head towards Hermione.

Harry raised his eyebrows and gave Malfoy a cold look, then glanced past Draco.

“What’re you looking at, Potter?”

“Me!” snapped McGonagall, who had just come up behind the three Slytherins. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, all spun around, shocked to see the irate looking professor glowering at them.

“Let’s see if another week’s worth of detentions for the three of you—perhaps scrubbing toilets the muggle way—and another fifty points from Mr. Malfoy here—can’t keep you from making death threats,” she said severely. “If it were up to me, you would be sent packing, Mr. Malfoy. Now back to your table, and don’t be late for class!”

**~o0o~**

Sirius felt a bit strange as he rode the lift from the telephone box down to the Atrium. He rubbed at his freshly shaved face and trimmed goatee; his head felt a lot lighter thanks to the haircut which Remus had given him; he felt like a real human being. It all seemed so surreal after twelve years as a prisoner in Azkaban and a year and a half as a fugitive.

When he stepped out of the lift and merged into the visitors’ queue, he was nearly blinded by the glare of numerous flashbulbs going off in his face. Sirius supposed he really shouldn’t be surprised that the Press had been eagerly awaiting his arrival.

The security wizard quickly pushed the other three visitors ahead of Sirius aside and waved Sirius on through to where he saw Fudge and several Aurors waiting to escort him.

“Sorry folks,” said the security wizard, “very important person...”

“Of course ‘e is!” squealed a pretty blonde witch pushing thirty. “‘E’s Stubby Boardman! ... Stubby, can I get your autograph?” 

Sirius chuckled; after all these years he was still getting mistaken for the lead singer of the Hobgoblins. 

“Sorry, Miss,” said Sirius, “It’s Black, Sirius Black!”

“Oh blimey!” The witch turned pink and batted her eyelashes, looking no less excited to see him. “Sorry! But still... look me up if you’d like a bit o’company, will you? I’m Ellen Price... I was a couple years behind you—Hufflepuff. I always said it was a frame-up.” 

“That’s true—she always did,” said Ellen’s curly haired friend, nodding vigorously.   
   
“Well, I’ll have to see what my partner thinks about that,” Sirius responded with an easy grin and a wink.

“Okay now, make way, make way,” said Minister Fudge, smiling broadly, trying to look as patient as possible. “Sorry, but Mr. Black has waited far too long for justice as it is, and it’s time to make it official.” 

“Thanks for the save, Minister,” said Sirius as Fudge led him toward the lifts on the other side of the Atrium, both of them flanked by the Aurors who were busily keeping reporters from the  _Daily Prophet_  and other wizarding magazines and papers at bay.

“Please, no need to stand on formality just because we’re in the Ministry, Cornelius will do,” said Fudge warmly. Then Fudge leaned in closer to speak in a hushed tone which nobody else could hear. “Sorry about all the fuss last year, what with the Dementors and such, but—you know…”

“Quite understandable,” said Sirius, “I _was_ a fugitive, after all.” 

“Er… yes! And keeping Harry safe was paramount, of course. But we’ll discuss this a bit more in my office, in private, before the official proceedings begin.”

Fudge gestured toward an open lift and Sirius followed him in along with their escorts. The gate rattled shut behind them and Sirius hung on for dear life as the lift hurtled upwards at breakneck speeds. The lift eventually came to a screeching halt and the same female voice which had addressed Sirius in the lift to the Atrium from the telephone box in the Whitehall region of London announced the floor.

_“Level One: Administration: Including offices of the Minister for Magic and the Senior Undersecretary and the offices of Administrative Support Staff.”_

“Well, this is rather... elegant,” Sirius remarked as he stepped out of the lift onto the plush purple and gold carpet, peering up and down the corridor at the ornately framed portraits on the pastel blue walls and the well cared for ficuses spaced at intervals between highly polished mahogany office doors.

Fudge smiled wryly at Sirius’s comment. Moments later they were both seated in Fudge’s office in well cushioned patent leather chairs, leaving the escorts to wait in the office lobby with Fudge’s secretary.

“We have some time before meeting with Madam Bones, and then with Lucius and the Wizengamot Administration Services, would you like some tea?” Fudge asked politely. “Or a brandy? I know it’s a bit early in the day for libations, but it’s not every day that one receives full exoneration of all charges and a Wizengamot seat all in one go.”

“Good point!” said Sirius with a grin. “How about a bit of both then? Tea with a splash of brandy sounds just about right.”  
     
“Yes, yes! Quite!” Fudge chuckled amiably. A golden tea-service arrived with a wave of Fudge’s wand and he poured a capful of brandy into each steaming teacup. 

 “Well, Mr. Black,” said Fudge after taking a sip of his own spiked tea, “from fugitive to Warlock in one fell swoop—that is quite a feat, I must say.” 

“Now who’s standing on formality, Cornelius?” said Sirius, smirking slightly. 

“Touché! Sirius it is then.” Cornelius took another sip of brandy enhanced tea, then continued. “Now that we have a bit of privacy, we can speak more openly, Sirius. I rather think I should apologise on behalf of the Ministry for your incarceration without a trial—”

“There’s really no need to apologise, Cornelius,” said Sirius, taking a sip from his own teacup. “You weren’t Minister at the time, and I hardly led anyone to believe I was innocent. ... Screaming in the streets that I had killed the Potters and laughing manically while twelve muggles lay dead made it all too easy for Bagnold and Crouch to lay it all on me—I gave no reason for them to believe otherwise.”

“True, true!” Fudge agreed. “And finding one of Pettigrew’s fingers certainly didn’t help matters. Nobody presumed he could still be alive…”

“And there was no reason to believe that Peter Pettigrew had framed me,” Sirius added. “No reason to suspect that he could have possibly been a Death Eater. Everyone underestimated him, including myself unfortunately—and he clearly took advantage of that when he joined the Dark Lord. Maybe if I hadn’t been so dismissive of him during in our school days… But looking back now, thinking about things since I saw him at Hogwarts last year, I’m not so sure. 

“I honestly can’t imagine how anyone could switch sides and betray all their friends merely for the sake of cowardice, when it was clearly the more dangerous of the options. A coward would have fled Britain altogether and just left us all to sort it out ourselves, and I can’t see why anyone who had truly been afraid of Voldemort…”

Fudge winced and nearly spilled his tea.

“Sorry,” said Sirius, “As I was saying, I can’t imagine why anyone who was truly afraid of You-Know-Who would want to restore him to full strength. It doesn’t make sense. … In retrospect, I have to think now that it was envy. Peter had always wanted everything that James had—power, talent, charisma, glory, gold, girls—but Peter always was a bit lazy… never wanted to do the hard work.

“But basking in James’s presence, hoping for some of it to rub off on him clearly wasn’t enough. I think he reckoned that he could get loads more by sucking up to Voldemort and having a free pass to just take whatever he wanted, and... well... the rest is history.”  

“Yes!” Fudge nodded. “Sadly, there was a lot of suspicion to go around in those days, and you’re quite correct—nobody would have thought that Pettigrew had it in him. I know  _I_  certainly didn’t.” 

Fudge shook his head and sighed heavily with regret.

“Take Lucius Malfoy, for example, I couldn’t see what should have been self-evident—I didn’t want to see it. It was easier to believe that he had been imperiused than it was to challenge him—Britain’s wealthiest and most influential Warlock. 

“That’s really why we’re having this little chat. Lucius is not one for participating in Wizengamot proceedings—that’s what his proxy is for—but when it comes to having a say in who is allowed to be seated, he takes his role as head of Wizengamot Administration Services a bit more seriously. If he can find a reason, he may raise objections to seating you—”

“Then I shall have to see that he doesn’t,” said Sirius dryly. “I’ll play nice with Lucius, if that’s what it takes.” 

“Er, yes, very good then,” said Fudge. “I was about to say that Lucius is currently under investigation at my orders, now that I have… er… seen the light, so to speak. But, in the meantime, until the D.M.L.E. has enough to charge him, his decisions still carry some weight.”

“Understood, Cornelius,” Sirius drained the rest of his tea and brandy with a single gulp, thinking it best not to let Fudge know that Dumbledore had already told him everything. Being in contact with a fugitive, even one who was being considered for exoneration, could have strained recently repaired relations between Fudge and Dumbledore. 

“Well then,” said Fudge, beaming and looking very relieved, “we still have ten more minutes before meeting with Madam Bones and then Lucius—another tea with brandy?” 

Sirius thought for a moment.

“I think I’ll just have the brandy—no tea!” Sirius said with a grin. “And make it a double! I’ll need all the help I can get to stop myself from smacking Vol… You-Know-Who’s ex-poodle upside the head and getting myself landed right back in Azkaban.”

Two hours later after meeting with Madam Bones and submitting to a Veritaserum confirmed interview (with Cornelius Fudge present) which invalidated his all too public “confession,” and signing numerous documents, Sirius Orion Black exited her office a legitimately free man with his record completely expunged and a Ministry settlement of several hundred thousand galleons for time served in Azkaban.

Sirius had lunch and some more shots—this time of Firewhisky—with Cornelius Fudge, and then spent most of the afternoon “making nice” with Lucius Malfoy, sitting in meetings with the Wizengamot Administration Services and the Office of Estate Adjudication Services, and signing many more official documents. 

At the end of it all, Sirius Orion Black exited the Ministry a legitimate Warlock—Head of House Black, with a seat on the Wizengamot—just as dusk began to settle over the streets of London. 

He snorted and shook his head, unable to get the uncomfortable comment that Lucius Malfoy had made out of his mind, referring to Sirius as one of a dying breed, a Nobleman. He couldn’t wait to tell Harry all about it. But as it grew darker and began to rain again, Sirius decided to walk home from Whitehall to the Islington Borough of London, just happy to be able to walk freely in the world once more, without the threat of Azkaban hanging over his head.  


End file.
